


Prayer of the Refugee

by skybound2



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Colonist (Mass Effect), Drama, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Humor, Orphaned Shepard, Saren raises Shepard, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-01-30 22:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybound2/pseuds/skybound2
Summary: Saren doesn't like children. They're messy. Demanding.Helpless.With his line of work he never expected it to be an issue."Stop that.""No.""Human, I'm not going to tell you again.Stop. Touching. That."That was before he was tasked with transporting the most disagreeable five-year old passenger in history to the nearest refugee facility.~~~Or the one where Saren ends up raising an orphaned Shepard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this work in April 2012 as a response to a prompt at the ME Kinkmeme. I got ~20,000 words up for it, before my muse wandered off for other pastures and it sadly has sat unfinished in anon status ever since. 
> 
> I decided for this N7 day, that I would begin the long process of dusting it off, polishing it up, claiming it as my own, and (hopefully) finishing the damn thing. At present, I am planning to post an update to this at least once a week. (Nine chapters and counting, folks! All in need of a thorough editing, so please be patient with me.)
> 
> Title borrowed from the song of the same name by _Rise Against_.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and **Happy N7 Day!**

Saren doesn't like children. They're messy. Demanding.

_Helpless._

It's the latter quality that he has the most issues with. It seems counterintuitive, birthing young that clutch at their parents for more than a decade before they are truly self-sufficient.

And by that point, everyone is too emotionally attached to let go. So they cling to each other for years in a co-dependant mess.

How the hell so many species evolved that method of child-rearing, he has no idea. He thinks the flightless tyrexes on Palaven have a better idea: their young are born fully mobile and able to hunt unassisted, and the parents just walk away.

It's a much better practice, as far as Saren's concerned.

His opinions on this topic have never mattered much, of course, and with his line of work he never expected it to be an issue. With no plans to take a mate and produce a mass of squabbling babes, it seemed an unnecessary concern.

Which does absolutely nothing to temper his frustration at the situation he is currently in: transporting the most disagreeable passenger in history to the nearest refugee facility. Which is, of course, located an obscene distance away.

"Stop that."

"No."

"Human, I'm not going to tell you again. **Stop. Touching. That.** Those buttons are not a toy. And if you don't leave them alone, I'll be forced to lock you in your sleeping pod, and you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"I don't care! I wanna go home. Take me home. NOW." The child stomps her feet. Tiny over-digited hands balled into fists, she gives him a look that says he is not worth her time unless he gives her what she wants. And if he was anyone else, she'd probably get it.

Considering she is all of five Galactic standard years old, that is no small feat.

As is, he _is_ who he is, and he is not about to give into the demands of a terroristic human child - no matter how much calmer the trip would be if he did. What kind of a Spectre would that make him?

He double checks the navigational settings on his cruiser before turning to the human child. She hasn't moved an inch. Still standing there by the console, stiff-backed and angry. Idly, he can't help but compare her to a turian child of similar age, and while she may come up wanting in many, _many_ areas, he does have to give her credit for daring to stare at him with a look of defiance that most grown turians wouldn’t be brave enough to give.

He'd say it was impressive, if he was willing to admit to such things.

"Listen, human-"

She stomps her foot again. "Stop calling me that!"

He blinks at her, taken aback. "Why? It's what you are."

"I _have_ a name you know."

"Really? I must have missed it with all of the whining you've been doing."

She wrinkles her nose at him, her miniature features looking pinched. "I am not whining!" She stomps her foot again, crossing her arms over her chest. That look of defiance transforming to one less easily identified by him. Her lower lip jutting out beneath the upper one, and eyes wide circles. "I just want to go home."

"That's not an option."

"Why not?"

"Because your family made the unfortunate decision to settle in the Traverse, and now you no longer have a home to go to. We're headed to a refugee center, they'll figure out how to get you some place...appropriate."

For several, perfect minutes, there is total silence. The child doesn't stomp her foot, or touch anything she shouldn't. There's no screaming or crying. There's nothing at all. Nothing aside from the weight of her stare on the back of his head as he pilots the small spacecraft.

It's the first reprieve he's gotten since leaving Mindoir with his unwanted baggage in tow. When he'd first arrived at the ruined colony, he hadn't been certain what to expect. He'd been furious to be sent at all, truth be told. His...lack of love for humans was not a secret, and a large part of him couldn't help but think that the upstart little pyjaks got what they deserved, settling a planet so close to the Terminus.

And the added insult of being assigned as _clean up_ , while another 'more seasoned Spectre' (he scoffs at the memory of the asari Councilor's patronizing tone) was tasked with shaking down the batarian slavers responsible, grated on his ego. He may only have been a Spectre for a year, but everyone already knows that he is one of the best. The fact that the Council still assigns him such...childish tasks is frustrating.

For now, he simply has no choice but to grin and bear it.

Of course, at no point did he think that meant collecting the lone survivor from the colony, this angry slip of a thing in tattered clothing and dried mud and animal refuse - who he'd only found by sheer luck, locked away in a feed stall - and transporting her to safety.

"My family's all dead, aren't they?"

Saren's startled less by the question, and more by the monotone way with which she asks it. There's no crying or shaking, no evidence at all of an emotional response. It makes the child seem infinitely older than Saren knows her to be.

If nothing else, he has to admit that she's made of tougher stuff than most children her age. Human, turian, or otherwise.

"Yes, human, they are."

Her lower lip wobbles just for a second, and he can see the shine of tears in her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall.

Tougher stuff.

"Jane. My name is Jane."

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

"I'm sorry, Spectre. But we simply don't have the room or the facilities to care for her."

"You're an orphanage. For _refugees_. She..." He gestures to the silent child standing by his side, head held up and glare fixed on this new opponent the same way it had previously been fixed on him. "Is an _orphaned refugee._ It would seem that your supply meets her demand." 

"She's also a human. And this is a _turian_ facility."

Saren levels an unamused glare at the woman; pointedly not looking at the seal of the turian hierarchy emblazoned on the wall behind her head. "I had noticed that."

"Then it should also be obvious that, at a minimum, she would require levo-rations to survive, and we do not have the funds allocated to provide those at this time. Not to mention the specialized medical care she will need, amongst other basic requirements. There is simply no way we can take her in." 

"I'm a Spectre, the Council will-"

"The Council will agree with my assessment of the situation, and we both know it. They are not in the habit of bothering with displaced children, let alone just one lone human. They have more important things to deal with as I recall."

With his chance to unload his cargo dwindling before his eyes, Saren feels as angry and frustrated as the child by his side. "Well I can't keep her any longer!"

"I'm afraid that's not my problem."

"She's a _child._  What do you expect me to _do_ with her?"

"You're a Spectre. Figure it out." The way the woman says 'Spectre' is the way most people say 'vorcha.' With a whole lot of venom and just a hint of disgust. It annoys him at the same time that it makes him feel somewhat smug.

The woman behind the counter dismisses him with a flick of her mandibles, and turns back to her terminal. Saren considers it a success when he doesn't proceed to kill her using one of the seven different options he catalogued immediately after walking into the room. Voice and features tightly controlled, he turns on his heel to head for the door.

It is only once he is over the threshold that he realizes the child has not followed him. He fixes her with an annoyed glare, and swats his thigh, like he's calling a disobedient varren to his side. "Come, child. The sooner we leave here, the sooner we can find you a place to stay."

The human's eyes flicker back up to the woman who dismissed them, then back to Saren, her hands bunching the fabric of her still tattered (but thankfully cleaner, after he managed to dunk her fully clothed in a public bath - to her very vocal protest) shirt. After several moments that thin out Saren's patience almost to the point of snapping, she nods her head once and trots over to him. He makes no effort to shorten his strides as he marches back to his ship, but rather than falling behind, the child speeds her footfalls until she is practically running in order to keep up.

She doesn't complain.

In fact, she doesn't speak until they have cleared port security and are waiting for his ship's decon to complete. "Why am I going back on your ship? I thought you said this would be my new home."

He growls, long and deep. She doesn't so much as flinch. "There was no room for you here. We’ll have to try somewhere else."

"Why?"

His estimation of her intelligence drops several degrees. He slows his speech to a crawl so she'll better be able to understand. "Because. There. Is. No. Room. For. You. Here."

"No. Not that. You _said_ that already. Why take me with you? You don't like me."

"I don't like anyone. But that doesn't matter. Whether we like each other or not, for now, you're my responsibility. "

She sucks in a breath, her hands flexing and releasing her shirt over and over. "I'm almost six. I can take care of myself." He gives her credit for trying, her voice doesn't even shake when she says it, though her whole body trembles. "Maybe you could find another farm for me? My Mama says that farms can always use another pair of hands. And Daddy was teaching me how to work the machines. I'm a quick learner. He even took me hunting a couple of times!"

"Did he now? Did you ever kill anything?"

She nibbles on her lip and looks away, hands playing with her shirt once again. After a protracted minute, she nods.

Before he can inquire further, the decon finishes and the door's to the ship open to admit them.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

“Argh!” Saren jabs a finger at the console, severing the communication between his ship and the third - no the _fourth_ \- facility that he has contacted to take possession of the human child - _Jane_ she keeps insisting that he call her - all of which have given him the same answer: _No_.  

He drops his head into his palm, massaging the space above his eyes. The throb of a headache hasn’t been far off since this whole debacle started. He isn’t pleasant at the best of times, but throw a migraine into the mix and he gets downright nasty.

Not the best mental state to be in when enclosed in a small metal tube with a thin-skinned and very breakable human child.

At least she hasn’t been much trouble since the first couple of days. Not after he explained why she couldn’t go home and that he was trying to find her a new one. Before that she’d been angry and irritating. Now her emotions seem to fluctuate between tired and resigned.

He hasn’t seen her cry once, which is something that his limited experience with humans has taught him they do as easily as they lie. _Especially_ when they’re grieving. He’s not sure if that means that the girl is broken, or if she’s just got better control of her emotions than most of her adult counterparts. In fact, she’s been positively _turian_ in her stoicism.

Regardless, he’s counting himself lucky that he hasn’t had to deal with any further emotional outbursts or crying fits.

“Did another one turn you down?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

He drops his hand from his head and turns to look at her, at how she’s sitting there on the seat just watching him. Looking...concerned? He’s not sure. Human faces are too flexible and their voices too shallow for him to really be able to read their emotions with any sort of ease, but the long days he has spent in her company are beginning to mitigate that.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” _Except for complicating my life a hundred fold._ “You didn’t chose to be here, and you aren’t responsible for the fact that no facilities in this sector - or any nearby ones it seems - are set up to deal with humans.” He heaves an aggravated sigh. “As much as I detest the idea of going there, I can see no alternative but to return you to Earth.”

Her eyes go wide and she leans forward on her seat. Looking...pleased? He still can’t quite tell. “I’ve never been to Earth.” Pleased, definitely.

“I wouldn’t get so excited if I were you. My understanding is that it’s nothing like your little farm world. This one is all paved over and covered in city-states.”

She bites her lip, thinking this over, and nods - seeming to have come to a decision. “I’ve never been to a city before either.”

“Lot of firsts for you.” He starts to input the coordinates into his console. The trip to Earth is a long one, and they’ll need to stop off at a spaceport along the way to get more levo-rations if he wants to deliver her alive to her home system.

“Like going into space. And meeting you. I’ve never met a, ummm...” She scrunches up her nose and eyes, squinting at him. “What are you again?”

The question is innocent enough, but he can’t help but sneer. The ignorance of the child sets him on edge. What? Did her parents not tell her bedside tales of all the ‘horrible things’ his people had done to hers? He doesn’t believe it for a second. More likely she just hasn’t put two and two together yet. “Turian,” he growls.

She rolls her eyes at him, huffing. His slow boiling rage settles down to a simmer. “No. Not _that_. I know what a turian is. You must think I’m really dumb, huh?”

“You _are_ a child.”

And, ah-ha! There is that temper of hers, he’d almost missed it. Almost. She slides from the chair and stomps her foot.  Balls her hands into fists and levels that glare of hers at him. “I’m almost six!”

“So you’ve said. I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

“It means I’m not a baby, and I know things. Like what turians are. And asari. And krogan. And...” She stops mid-sentence, swallowing. Her lower lip wobbles for a moment, but she bites it, like she’s trying to make it stop. Her voice is much smaller when she speaks again. “And batarians... “ She sniffles and her eyes look glassy, but he still doesn’t see any tears. “Mama used to have me help with deliveries, so I’ve met all kinds of people before. Including turians.”

Now he’s just genuinely confused, because apparently she not only knows what turians are, but she’s met them before, and doesn’t seem to hold any ill-will against them. It tilts his view of her and her now dead family in an unexpected direction. “If you’ve met turians before, why did you ask what I am?”

“I _meant_ what are you - like a Captain, or an Officer. Like that. I know that you’re something, because you keep bringing it up to people before they turn you down.”

 _Ahh. That._ “I’m a Spectre.”

“That! That’s it! I’ve never met a Spectre before.”

“Be glad.”

She squints at him again, head angled like she’s sizing him up. “Why?”

“Because if a Spectre’s around, it usually means something has gone wrong.”

She’s quiet for several minutes, and he thinks that maybe she’s just grown tired of the conversation. He’s fine to let it drop. The less he engages her in conversation the better. But, apparently, she was just getting her head on straight about what she wanted to say. The fact that she does that, is...not impressive, but close. She thinks before acting, and that’s a quality to be admired in anyone, turian, human, adult, or child.

“Like what happened with my family.”

“Yes, child. Like that.”

“Things...bad things happened to them. Because of those batarians...that’s why they’re all dead.”

“Yes.”

“But...but then you came. Because of what they did. And you saved me.”

It’s strange, hearing her simplify it all down to it’s base parts, and state it all out loud. Of course, she has no idea what the slavers were really doing. The kind of experiments they were trying to run. How they tortured the people from her colony.

Or how he only found her by random chance, in a last ditch search for survivors. How he almost hadn’t gone back to check the noise, certain it was just some dying livestock and still too pissed at the Council for sending him there to give a damn. “In effect, yes.”

“So you show up when things are bad, but you help. That seems like a good thing to me.”

“That is one way to look at it, I suppose.”

They lapse back into silence, with him navigating the ship and her climbing back into her chair. The seat elevated too high off the decking for her feet to reach the floor. When she speaks this time it is with a fair amount of confidence. Like she’s come to some decision, and he should be happy she is sharing her wisdom with him. “I don’t like batarians...but, I think I like you.”

Saren has no idea what to say to that. He shoots a quick glance at her, finds that she’s not smiling, but...something close. After a moment. He clears his throat. “It’s late. You should go back to your bunk and get some rest. I’ll wake you at the next port.”

She doesn’t argue, just slides from the seat once more, landing with a light thud on the metal deck. “Okay. G’night.”

“Good night.”

_Jane._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two, folks! Thanks to everyone who read/kudos/commented on the first part! It helps so much to stay motivated, really. Hope you enjoy!

Necessity and pragmatism result in Saren docking at Omega to refuel and procure supplies. He detests the place, but this absurd hunt for a refugee center willing take in a human has put him in close proximity to the lawless station, and rerouting anywhere else would just be asinine.

Besides, a few of his less savory contacts make their home on the rock. Babysitting duties aside, he's still a Spectre and he has a job to do, checking in with his contacts may very well net him something of interest.

And at this point, he'll gladly break up illegal varren pit fights just for the chance to interact with someone besides the child.

“Where are we?”

Saren sighs, he'd held out hope that the child wouldn’t wake up when docking procedures began, but since his luck is worthless these days, she of course does. “Where we are is none of your concern. It’s the middle of your night cycle, go back to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna. Not tired.” She yawns in between the words, blinking wide, dull looking eyes at him.

“You’re lying leaves something to be desired. Now do as I say and go back to sleep.”

"But-"

Feeling a child-shaped headache coming on, Saren cuts her off. "This is no place for a child. Unless you want to be picked up by slavers and sold like a sack of meat? No? Good. I just need to pick up a few supplies, it shouldn't take long. Go back to the sleeping quarters, I'll be back shortly."

She glares at him through narrowed eyes, biting out a 'fine' and stomping off to her bunk. Making as much noise as she can on her way there. Saren ignores her tantrum and instead focuses on double checking his weapons and shields (you never can be too careful on Omega). He heads to the exit, keying in the unlock/lock sequence for the ship to secure it behind him as he heads into decon.

He's not surprised when there’s an agent of Aria's waiting for him at the docks, but he is annoyed. The place makes him itch, the less time he spends here the better. And time spent with Aria is time not spent somewhere else. Still, the adage of 'don't fuck with Aria' is just as true for him as it is for everyone else, Spectre status be damned. With an irritated huff he inclines his head in acceptance and follows the agent to Afterlife.

Aria is, predictably, lounging in her corner of the nightclub. To Saren, it seems less a throne for a self-appointed Queen, than a perch for a shepherd to oversee an unruly flock.

“Well well well, Saren Arterius. What brings the Council's youngest turian Spectre to my corner of the galaxy? I don’t get a lot of your kind walking through my doors. Please sit."

Her tone of voice sounds anything _but_ pleased. He sneers at their surroundings, and continues to stand. "And I wouldn't be doing that if you hadn't _requested_ my presence as soon as I docked."

She coasts her eyes from him to the seat that he blatantly refused, before she swings her gaze back to the masses below. If she's bothered by his disobedience, she does nothing else to show it. "I wouldn't have made the request, if you hadn't turned up on my doorstep. You know the rules, Saren. I don't like Spectres on my station, makes the locals antsy."

Saren laces his hands behind his back, taking the chance to observe the asari while her eyes are elsewhere. It gives him the opportunity to note the subtle tension in her neck and shoulders. She may appear at ease, but she’s genuine in her dislike of his presence here.

Good.

He’s more than happy to play off that emotion if it’ll net him positive results. Like an early exit. "I can assure you, as much as I'd like to see half of your citizens rot away in jail, I'm only here for supplies."

She turns to face him once more, a half-smile on her lips and eyes bright with mirth. "That's odd. Word on the street is that you're trying to unload a human, a _child_ at that, onto anyone who'll take it. I assumed you were here looking for takers."

"Why? Are you offering?"

"Would you accept if I did?"

Saren would sooner put a bullet in the child's skull then hand her over to the asari. Better to end her life now, then later when she's become a criminal with a body count. "No."

"I didn't think so. So, what _are_ you planning to do with her, him, whatever it might be?"

"Why so concerned, Aria? Feeling maternal today?"

She scoffs. "Hardly. Just call me curious."

He studies her for a moment: her facial expression, her posture. Though they give very little away, he is still able to find that - whatever angle she may be trying to play here - she is mostly being forthright in her curiosity.

Satisfied, he nods and crosses to the railing overlooking the club to lean against it. Maybe the more relaxed he appears, the more likely she'll get bored with his presence and send him on his way. And on this subject at least, he has nothing to hide.

"It seems I have no choice but to return her to Earth. As much as it galls me to have to go anywhere near the place, there do not appear to be any facilities willing to take on the burden of a human child." He sneers at the last, the annoyance at being repeatedly stonewalled still fresh.

"Seems like the answer to that problem is clear, take the burden away."

"And how, precisely, would you suggest I accomplish that?"

She chuckles. "And here I thought you were bright. The Council gives you a paycheck, don't they? Find a boarding school, and pay them for her care. She gets a place to live, and you don't have to dirty yourself by visiting their homeworld. Win. Win."

He stares at her, mandibles flared open and tilted down in bafflement. That was...so far from an expected suggestion that he’s not even sure how to process it. He figured she’d be more liable to suggest that a bullet to the head would bring a swift end to his problem. A fact he has been very deliberately avoiding acknowledging as of late. "There is one flaw in this plan of yours, Aria."

She turns to him, a look of wide-eyed innocence on her face that comes across as more psychopathic than anything. "Really, what?"

"The part wherein I have to assume responsibility for the child for the duration of her schooling."

"Strange. And here I thought that was the biggest bonus."

"Come again?"

"My suggestion has you retaining responsibility for the child. Which would mean that you would have a say in how she is raised. Think of the benefits."

He doesn't sputter, but it's a close thing. "She's **human**."

"Precisely."

What he means to say as a follow up is: ' _Why would I want to raise a human child?_ ' but what comes out is: "What would I know about raising a human child?" He has no idea what is responsible for the disconnect from his brain to his mouth, and Aria doesn't seem to notice his trouble.

"Nothing, I'd imagine. But you do know what it takes to raise a turian. I know how young you are, Spectre, surely you can recall what it was like to be a child? Or did you fall into military rank the moment you were born?"

He bristles. "I fail to see your point."

She makes a tsking sound. "You’re only just into your twenties, right? Still just a baby by the standards of many.” His hands tighten into fists and he fights down the urge to lash out at her for her insults. The batarian and turian guards that flank him a heavy reminder to keep his anger in check. “So you can be forgiven for having so little experience with children. But you must understand that they are as much the product of their environments as they are of their births. Possibly even more so. Genetically, she may be a human. But she is young, her mind...malleable. You have a unique opportunity on your hands. It would be a shame to squander that."

Despite himself, he can't help but see the logic in her argument. Because the same thought has already occurred to him. A human raised as a turian? There are possibilities there that he doesn't want to admit to considering, even for a moment. If for no other reason than that he doesn't know _why_ he would want to. But that begs the question, why does she? "Why do you care, Aria?"

"Oh, I don't. Drop her off on Earth. Leave her on the Citadel to join the legions of duct rats, or hand her over to the slavers that ransacked her colony so they can finish what they started. Makes no difference to me. But you, however? You've already proven that it makes a difference to _you_. I don't much care _why_ it does." She shrugs, and motions one of her underlings for a drink. "But I am...curious to see how far you'd be willing to go."

He can’t stop the growl from escaping his throat. "Not that far."

She stares at him, assessing. Try as he might, he can't even begin to decipher the look on her face, and that annoys him. It's a simple matter of survival, being able to tell what others are thinking at any given point in time. And when it comes to someone like Aria? Not knowing is akin to signing your own death warrant. "In that case, enjoy your trip to Earth. I hear that they just adore it when turians visit."

It's as clear a dismissal as he is likely to get and he wastes no time heading for the exit, eager to be away from her and on his way, only to be halted by his name before he has set foot on the first stair.

"Oh and Saren? The next time you plan to stop off on my station? Send a note. I hate being unprepared for guests."

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Completing his rounds on Omega after escaping from Afterlife takes an absurdly long time. But, in addition to finding all the supplies he needs, he also manages to convince a witless volus to part with an experimental mod for his rifle, and gets a lead on some stolen eezo from one of his contacts. With the exception of his conversation with Aria, the trip has been productive, and blessedly free of the sound of human children.

“LET ME GO!”

The familiar voice of one particular human child being contorted into that panicked, high-pitched yell has Saren's feet moving before he even realizes why. He runs, drawing his gun mid-stride, and barrels around the corner towards the noise, and the docking bay.

What he sees brings him to a short, skidding halt. The child is kicking and clawing like a wild animal at the man - the _batarian_ \- restraining her in his arms, three feet off the ground. Saren watches, slack-jawed for several moments while she thrashes and fights. The man spitting out untranslatable curses in response.

Saren does quick calculations. There’s no way that anyone could have breached his ship’s defenses to get to the child. (And if they _had_ managed to get inside, there is far, _far_ more valuable items to plunder then one scrawny child.) So the only logical explanation (such as it is) is that she managed to get _out_ of the ship somehow.

_How?_

The batarian - a slaver, Saren assumes - must have found her wandering the docks and thought she'd be easy prey. They didn't usually take slaves so young, but Saren guesses that the temptation was just too much for him to resist. Or that he had other plans for the girl.

The slaver reaches for something strapped to his leg, and Saren decides that question will have to wait until later to be answered, after the child has been retrieved. Seeing no clear angle to the batarian's head, he points the gun to the side of the batarian's feet and fires off a round. In an instant both child and man freeze. The child's eyes go wide when she sees him and she doubles her efforts to squirm out of the slaver’s arms.

The batarian hisses at him. "I've no quarrel with you turian. Walk away."

Saren knows from experience that reasoning with batarians can be tricky, so he aims for the target most likely to get him a positive response. "I'm afraid I can't do that, seeing as how you're holding my property."

"Yours?" He laughs. "You should keep better track of your pets, turian. This one was just wandering around, free for the taking."

He keeps his voice level, unconcerned, but inserts an element of irritation into his voice. "Yes, _mine_." Saren tilts his head to the right, gaze focused on the main set of the batarian's eyes, and waits.

He is not disappointed.

"You dare insult me! Do you know who I am, you insolent - AHHH!! FILTHY PYJAK!!" The batarian flings the child - the child that just bit his arm hard enough to draw blood - from his body. She lands with a yelp several feet away. Saren takes the opportunity offered by the distraction to put a round through one of the slaver's eyes.

The child scrambles up to her feet and behind Saren's legs, breathing hard and wiping batarian blood from her chin. The fact that she seeks shelter in his shadow is...unsettling.

"Inside the ship. Now." She doesn't argue, just scurries towards the ship. He takes a deep breath, dips down to examine the batarian's body for any useful info. Satisfied that he hasn’t killed anyone of importance, he pockets the few credits the man had on him and a decent looking knife, and follows her. He finds her waiting for him outside the decon station. He bites his tongue on questions of what the hell she was doing outside of the ship - and _how_ \- waiting instead for the doors to admit them to the privacy of the main cabin.

As soon as they shut he turns to her with a snarl, anger at her careless actions twisting his insides inexplicably. “Why did you leave the ship?”

She sniffles, averting her eyes and rubbing a fist at the underside of her nose. Her face is splotched with points of color, and the start of a bruise. "I was looking for you."

His anger rams against a concrete wall at the statement, leaving his head ringing. "You...were looking. For me?"

She drops the fist to her side and straightens her spine, meeting his gaze head on and nods. "Yes...I didn't get very far..."

"So I saw. _Why_ did you go looking for me? I told you I'd be back -"

She stomps her foot, looking as angry as he's ever seen her - which is saying something - her little body shaking all over. "But you didn't come back! I waited. For **hours**! But you didn't come back." She blinks rapidly, and he wonders if he is finally going to see her cry, but she surprises him. Again. Holding the tears at bay. "You didn't come back, so I went looking. I thought something might have happened to you."

Surprise, frustration and confusion take over the space vacated by his anger. And again, he’s not sure _why_. “You could have gotten yourself killed. What do you think would have happened to you if I hadn't shown up in time?”

She looks at her feet and shrugs. "Don't know. Something bad, I guess."

He sneers, the naivete of the child grating on him. He clings to the familiar sensation. "You'd be dead. Or a slave. Or something worse, that's what you'd be."

"Maybe." She turns wide-eyes back to him. The certainty in her voice surprises him. "But you found me. Again."

Something inside of him sits up straighter at that statement, and preens. He does his best to ignore it. “You can't always count on that."

"Okay." A small smile flits on her face. "But you did." She looks almost...happy, despite what could have - likely _would have_ happened to her if he hadn’t shown when he did. Clearly, her priorities need some work.

The urge to send her to her room - if she had one - without supper, is so strong that it worries him. It doesn’t help that her smiling countenance almost, _almost_ , makes him forget one very important thing.

He kneels down to her level, making sure to soak the undertones of his voice in a heavy coat of intimidation. If anything, her smile gets wider. The crazy child. “Tell me, just _how_ did you get off the ship?”

She shrugs, and points at the security panel. “Used the code.”

He blinks. Twice. “You...used...the code?”

“Uh-huh.”

She nods, like her answer is perfectly reasonable, and he finds himself nodding back. Because of course to a child, it probably _is_ reasonable. “And just where did you learn the code?”

She cocks her head to the side and stares at him with a confused expression, the skin of her forehead pinched. “I watched you enter it.”

He rubs his thumb and forefinger over his forehead plates, squeezing his eye shut. “I change that code every day.”

“I know. Sometimes twice a day.” The pride in her voice is unmistakable and he decides it’s time to nip this little habit in the bud.

He stands to his full height, and gives her a glare that makes full-grown men quake in their boots. Her smile doesn’t even slip. “From now on, when I tell you to stay on this ship, you _stay on this ship_ is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“And you are **not** to memorize my security codes anymore, is that understood?”

This, at last, makes her smile slip and her voice shake a small amount. “But...what if you don’t come back?”

“I will.”

Her lower lip wobbles. “But-”

“ _I will_.”

She stares at him with round eyes that manage to look so young and yet so jaded all at once. He wonders if all human children look the same, or if it is only the ones that have experienced the same sort of horrors that she has. “Promise?”

“I...yes.” The word slips out before he has a chance to think it through. And when her smile returns double the size, Saren knows that he’s in trouble.

“Okay.”

But at least it gets her to stop arguing with him.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

They haven’t even made it to the mass relay when his private terminal pings with a message. The encoding indicates it as coming not only from Omega, but from Aria herself. He’s not at all surprised. She _is_ Omega after all.

_‘Heard about what happened at the docks. Sounds like that kid you’re chauffeuring is a real piece of work. Pity all of that spice is gonna be wasted with her rotting away with all the other trash back on Earth.’_

He scoffs. “She is proving to be full of surprises.“

As if Aria can hear him (and Saren double checks all of his instrumentation to make sure that she _can’t_ ) his terminal pings again. The address is the same, though this time there’s nothing written in the body of the message. Just an attachment. He opens it before he has a chance to examine all of the reasons why he shouldn’t.

_MATRIARCH ALESIA’S GALACTIC PREPARATORY_

_AND TRAINING ACADEMY_

_Provide your child with the most advanced foundational education in the galaxy!_

He gawks. Amazed at Aria’s persistence. Still, something inside of him makes him read through the entire brochure rather than deleting it out right. He decides not to dwell on what that something might be.

Saren glances over to where the child sits, occupied with a game he'd reluctantly installed on the side console days ago in an effort to keep her busy. (There was very little as irritating as having her underfoot while he was trying to navigate.) He'd tried to convince her to go to sleep after they left Omega, but she'd resisted. At least for the moment she seems happy enough to just sit near him and play quietly.

Saren doesn't like children. They're messy and demanding and helpless.

Only Jane...isn’t. At least, not to any degree that he can’t handle. And the way that she tore into that batarian? It showed that she had good instincts. And instincts like that? They can’t be taught, but they can be honed. With the proper guidance, of course.

It would be a challenge, working with a human. Possibly a nightmare. But Saren has always enjoyed a challenge, and has no fear of nightmares. With a quick keystroke he changes his plotted mass relay jump.

Really, how hard could having a human ward be?

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks. I've been dealing with being sick, and then there was a holiday, which limited my available writing/editing time. Thanks to everyone again for reading. Here's hoping you enjoy!

* * *

Turns out, finding an appropriate school to enroll Jane in is a task only a fraction easier than finding a refugee center willing to take her.

Which means that it would be easier to push a moon lost in a gravity well back into its planetary orbit than to find one.

(And _yes,_ Saren is questioning every choice he has ever made in his life at this point, seeing as how they’ve all lead him here. But if there is one thing that he is capable of, it is it sticking to a course once he’s plotted it.)

He rejects _Alesia’s_ outright. No matter how reputable it’s program may be, the fact that Aria suggested it is enough for Saren to choose otherwise. Opting to keep Jane as his ward after his discussion with Aria is one thing, but to send the child to the place that Aria taunted him with?

It would stink of a debt to her, and he can’t have that.

(The fact that _Alesia’s_ annual tuition is more than half his salary as a recently minted Spectre isn’t a factor. At all.)

He begins his search with the school he and his brother were enrolled in as children.

He’s not laughed at by the headmaster during the call, but he has little doubt that as soon as they’ve disconnected the man stops bothering to hold himself back.

(Saren makes a note to look into those pesky trade infraction rumors he’s heard whispered about him.)

After that, his search takes him down an ever shortening list of prospects.

This school doesn’t take levos. That school doesn’t offer boarding facilities. This school offers boarding facilities, but they consist of a concrete block floor and what Saren thinks may be repurposed fish netting for sleep slings. Is that one even a school, or is it just a mindless mercenary training ground?

(Saren makes a note to circle back to that one later, when he no longer has Jane in tow.)  

The next one seems promising: a decent educational program (even if it does lean more towards asari than turian in format), reasonable tuition costs, barracks that don’t appear to be on the verge of collapse, and most importantly, they are willing to take on a human student. Saren is just about ready to sign on the dotted line, when Jane’s uninterested form goes tense beside him. Her too-many fingered hand clutching around the edge of his armor by his hip.

He turns to see a batarian has passed through the side-door into the office, and appears to be in deep discussion with a salarian employee at another desk.

Jane’s hand is shaking where it grips at him.

The urge to reach for the pistol strapped at his back presses at Saren, but he refrains. His attention remains zero’d in on the unwelcome entity in case that decision needs to change.

A throat clearing lets him know that his new point of interest has not gone unnoticed by the asari who’s been going over the school’s fine print with him. “Spectre? Sir? We still have a few more items to cover before-”

Saren doesn’t let her finish, cutting her off mid-sentence to request the info that is more paramount to him at the moment than meal plans. “Who is the batarian?” His eyes continue to track the possible threat, a swell of irritation rising at the sudden bark of laughter the four-eyed rodent emits.

The weight of Jane at his side presses closer.

“Oh. He’s one of our facility managers.”

That impossible to believe statement is enough to snap Saren’s attention back to the woman. “You employ batarians?”

“Well, only the one at the moment. But yes. He’s a valued member of the staff.”

“I see.” There’s no hiding the disdain in his voice.

Or rather, there _could_ have been, but Saren sees no reason to expend the energy doing so.

The asari’s mouth pinches into a tight line as she meets his glare with a steady gaze. “Spectre Arterius. As we discussed, our school’s mission _is_ to give all species within the galactic community an equal opportunity for education. It’s one of the reasons why we welcome the opportunity to enroll Jane here. We believe that mission extends to selecting our staff as well. I can assure you that every employee has been thoroughly vetted, and-”

“Yes. Yes. I’m sure you think so.” Saren doesn’t have to look at Jane to know that the hand that isn’t holding onto his armor is bunched in a fist at her side.

He doesn’t have to look at her to know that she’s digging her teeth into her lower lip, or that her eyes may be watery but that no tears will have leaked out.

He doesn’t have to look at her to know that she is afraid; he knows that she wants to bolt from the room.

But she won’t. He knows that too.

It’s rather sobering, the sudden realization of just how well he’s come to know the child in the three months since he pulled her out of that feed stall.

“Be that as it may, I don’t believe your school will be a good fit.”

“But-” The asari’s eyes dart down to Jane. Whatever she sees there must tell a clear enough story that when she looks back to Saren, her expression has softened, and she grants him a small nod.

Never one to linger, Saren turns on his heel and heads for the exit, Jane huddled close to his side the whole way.

They’re halfway to the docks where his ship awaits when he hear’s the asari from the office calling out his name “Wait! Please.” He halts. Jane, having relaxed her hold on his armor the further from the batarian they’ve gone, steps against his side once more.

“Spectre. Sir. I  understand your reluctance to enroll Jane at our school.” He offers no rebuttal, just flares a mandible at her, and waits for her to continue. Which, following a protracted silence and an annoyed sigh, she does.

“There’s a, I wouldn’t call it a _sister_ school. But, it’s not far off. We work in conjunction with them, though we are both independently run.” She clears her throat, tipping her head to the side as she lifts her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “You may find it to be a...better _fit_. I can send you the documentation for it, if you would like.”

He considers his options: the dwindling list of schools whose end is on the horizon, versus cutting his losses, dropping Jane at the nearest Alliance facility, and getting the hell back to work before the Council starts making noise in his direction.

He doesn’t have to consider for long.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

She’s right.

The not-a-sister school _is_ a better fit.

* * *

 ~~~\/~~~

* * *

In keeping with the ‘nothing is ever easy’ motif of Saren’s life, signing off on the admittance paperwork _doesn’t_ result in Jane immediately moving off of his ship and into the dorms to start classes.

Because that would be _easy_ , and the universe can’t have that.

No, they have to wait until the start of the next term, which is a galactic standard month away.

Which means they have time to kill. And seeing as Saren has _work_ to do (the Council had been… strangely quiet during Saren’s back and forth tour of refugee centers and schools alike, but as soon as Jane’s enrollment had been processed, they’d sent him an assignment packet, and he’s eager to dig into it) he needs to figure out what do with Jane while he’s off-ship meeting with a contact.

He’s not about to go carting her with him wherever he goes. Not if he wants to continue to be held to some level of respect by anyone in the galaxy at least. But trusting that she will stay put of her own free will would be naive, so he decides that keeping her _busy_ is his best bet.

So far, it seems her favorite activities for passing the time include annoying him, breaking into his files using codes he has taken to changing twice a day, and dissembling whatever she can get her hands on.

(Come to think of it, those last two items _also_ accomplish the first. Which may be some of their appeal, he guesses.)

Still, it’s something he can work with. He cobbles together the thinnest of ideas, and a literal bucket of spare parts, and follows the sound of clacking and knocking at the rear of the ship.

He finds her tucked beneath the engineering console. Her feet sticking out from beneath the overhang, one foot flapping up and down on the decking, as she scratches a tool back and forth against the metal.

He refuses to squat down to her level, so he taps on the console top to get her attention. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Bored.” A wrench is held out towards him from under the console in her small fist in demonstration, or as a request for...something, he’s not sure.

“I see. Come out from there.”

She doesn’t so much as come _out_ , as she slides her body along the deck using her hands as leverage until her head is visible, allowing her to look up at him. “You leaving now?”

He nods, unable to miss the way that her whole face frowns. He knows that this would be an appropriate time to assure her that he won’t be long, or to feed her any other number of empty, pointless platitudes.

But the truth of the matter is that he _will_ be gone for quite some time, several hours, if not more, and he has no interest in fostering a relationship with the child based on blatant lies. So he skips all that rhetoric, and places the bucket between their feet. “I have something for you to work on while I’m off-ship.”

 _That_ gets her interest, if the way that her eyes widen, and her mouth parts around a surprised sounding ‘ohhh’ is any indication. She scrambles to her knees, and grabs at the container. He’s pleased to see that she stops just before she makes contact with it, instead tossing a glance in Saren’s direction, seeking permission.

Apparently, human children _can_ be taught. Perhaps his money _isn’t_ about to be wasted after all.

“What is it?”

“That depends on you.”

She gives him a slow, confused blink. “Huh?”

“The component parts in this container can be used to create any number of things, depending on how they are assembled.” He’s reasonably sure that list doesn’t include anything flammable or explosive.

Reasonably.

“Your...assignment, is to piece them together so that they create something _functional_ by the time I return. You like taking things apart. Put something together instead.”

He hadn’t thought it possible, but her eyes expand to an impossibly wide degree. A fact that is highlighted by the tooth-bearing grin she grants him. Her whole frame bouncing in place. “Can I-”

“ _No_ , you can _not_ use parts from anything or anywhere else to assist. _Only_ what’s in the bucket. I believe you’ve pilfered enough of my tools the last few weeks that you should have plenty to work with?”

She casts her eyes away from him, color rising to her cheeks as she nods.

“Get them, and see what you can make. And try not to break anything while I’m gone?”

She nods, but the earlier enthusiasm has dimmed. “When will you be back?”

“Difficult to say. Before your sleep cycle, if all goes well.”

“If not?” Her eyes are steely when she looks at him, and he’s reminder once again that this small human is made of stronger stuff than many adults he’s had the displeasure of knowing in his lifetime.

Still, it won’t do for her to go wandering off. _Again_. They aren’t docked somewhere as disreputable as Omega this time, but it’ not far off. “Then I’ll return as soon as I can. You’re six now, aren’t you? I recall you having made quite a big deal about that a few weeks ago. Surely a six year old can handle being alone for a few hours?”

“Of _course_ I can. I’m not a _baby_.”

“Well then. We both have our assignments. Best get to work. And _do_ _not leave the ship.”_

She grumbles out something under her breath that Saren can’t readily translate, and reaches for the bucket. His omit-tool beeps out a reminder of his meeting though, so he opts out of questioning her on it. He checks the pistol at his back, and confirms that his medi-gel is stocked, before heading towards the exit.

A glance back shows that Jane has already amassed a small pile of parts at her feet, and is fumbling with one in her hand.

Good.

Saren leaves feeling like this just might work out in his favor.  

It’s halfway through the night cycle when he returns. A slight limp to his gait, his left mandible swollen to an uncomfortable degree, and his stomach clenching at him with ignored hunger.

But he got the info he was in need of so, overall, it was a successful outing.

When he steps foot back on board his ship, he’s assaulted with an odor reminiscent of over-ripe fruit, mixed with...engine grease?

It’s horrid and unpleasant, and not at all surprising given how long Jane has been left unattended.

He follows the smell to the mess area, where he finds Jane slumped down on the table, her head pillowed on her arm, sound asleep. There’s a puddle of oil on the deck, and the walls of the small space are peppered with splattered food stuffs. Situated on the table is a mechanical arm, a metal cup that he knows wasn’t in the bucket of parts he gave her attached to one end. As he watches, the arm sweeps backwards towards the tabletop, then flings back upwards.

He follows the motion back to the walls, the answer to how there is food splayed everywhere quite clear.

She built a _catapult._

And she used it to destroy their food supply.

He...probably should have seen that coming.

An amused trill leaves him without his prompting. He knows he’d be furious with the situation if he wasn’t so exhausted. Instead, he can admit (to himself at least) that he’s impressed.

He hadn’t actually anticipated her being able to make anything that _worked_ , not without assistance. He’d just devised the plan to keep her busy, on the ship, and out of trouble

Two out of three’s not bad, though, considering.

Looking around at the destruction, he weighs his options. He’s not about to clean the mess himself. He could wake the child, and declare that she clean up after herself now. But he’d need to stay awake to supervise, and that’s less than appealing at the moment. He could leave her be, asleep at the table, and have to deal with what is sure to be an insufferable and grumpy attitude when she wakes. Or…

Decision made, he slips an arm beneath her legs, and wraps one around her shoulders so he can hoist her up into his hold. She huffs out a breath of air at the motion, but doesn’t wake. He carries her like that, careful to not jostle her too much, or bump her head too hard against the armor he still wears, to her sleeping pod. She’s dirty; in need of a change of clothes and a cleaning, but even skipping that, she’ll be able to sleep better here than at the table.

He settles her down onto the mattress and watches as she rolls over and makes a happy snuffling noise into her sheet.

Satisfied that moving her was the right choice, he continues to observe her for a few more moments after that, making certain that she’s not about to wake before he departs to ready himself for the night.

They’ll deal with the mess she’s made tomorrow.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back! *waves* I'm sorry for the sudden drop in updates on this fic, but I assure you it has NOT been forgotten or abandoned. This chapter was simply one that had NOT been in my original outline, but was one I felt NEEDED to exist and yet also didn't WANT to exist. *head desk* The chapter after this one is already in the editing stage, so I suspect it shouldn't be more than a week or two before it's up. (RL permitting of course *fingers crossed*)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, despite the delays. As a peace offering, have the longest chapter to date. Hope you continue to enjoy!

* * *

Jane goes off to school, and Saren’s life returns to normal.

Except that it doesn’t. _At all_.

Saren _assumed_ that’s what would happen. He had a vision of all of the myriad aspects of his life sliding back into place once the child-shaped disturbance had been relocated.

Assuming - foolishly, he now knows - that outside of the pre-scheduled breaks in her coursework when she’d return to his care, he’d have little involvement with her daily life and be able to get right back to the life he’d been building for himself before he’d opened that feed-stall door.

“Headmaster Loraion. I wasn’t expecting a call.”

He was sorely mistaken.

“My apologies for the interruption, Spectre. Do you have a few moments?” The vid-screen flickers in and out. The spotty connection making the turian on the other side appear ancient and sound as if he’s swallowed razors. Saren adds the communication array to the ever-growing list of repairs and adjustments he needs to make to his neglected ship.

On a side screen, Saren flips through the most recent assignment packet he’s received. A smuggler on the outer rim that’s something of a ghost to the local population. A ghost that’s evaded capture by turian, asari, _and_ salarian law enforcement entities to date. He’s eager to be the one to bring them in. “Very few, so if we can make this quick.”

“Of course, of course. I was calling to provide you with an update regarding Miss Shepard.”

Saren manages to not roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. After all, what _else_ would the Headmaster of Jane’s school be calling Saren about if _not_ Jane? “ _Obviously._ Has something specific occurred to merit this call?”

The connection fades from view. Saren taps the main panel with a fist. Twice. The Headmaster is mid-sentence when it’s jarred back to life.

“...pard is having some difficulty adjusting to the boarding schedule. Our medical staff estimate that she is obtaining less than half the amount of sleep a human child of her age requires to remain alert, and healthy. We’d like to prescribe her a sleep aid to assist with the transition, but wished to brief you on the situation first and secure your consent for treatment.”

Saren blinks. Surprised by both the request and the reason for it.

Saren can recall with startling clarity the way that Jane would make a bed out of anything in her vicinity, if she was tired enough. From the jumpseat at the front, to the decking beneath the table in the mess. Or on top of the engineering console. Or on one memorable occasion, standing up and slumped against the bulkhead while they’d been going through decon.

Really, once she’d worn herself down, expending all her energy into the world around her until Saren was exhausted just looking at her, she’d be dead to the world for half-a-day after.

Saren would think that her being run down to exhaustion would be a much more likely scenario at a school than cooped up on board his ship.

So to say that he’s baffled to hear that Jane is having difficulty sleeping is an understatement. To say that he is confused by why they are bothering to _ask him for permission_ before providing her with the necessary treatment to address the situation is equally inadequate.

He’s confused _and_ annoyed.

He chooses to focus on the latter.

“And you felt the need to call me with this, why, Headmaster? I am a busy man, and I do not have time to spare for every little issue that may crop up. A fact I made perfectly clear when I was signing _several dozen_ documents granting you _exactly_ the sort of permission you now seek.”

Through the grainy feed, the Headmaster’s mandibles flicker, taken aback. “Well, yes. That _was_ part of the documentation that you signed, however, we felt in this case it was important to contact you before proceeding.”

Saren flares a mandible out to the side, the levels of his annoyance only deepening the longer the call goes on. “Again I ask, _why_?”

“Miss Shepard is our first - and only - human pupil, and given the circumstances by which she came into our care, we felt it was best to confirm in advance prior to-”

Saren laces his subvocals with as much irritation as he can, and cuts the Headmaster off. “Headmaster, Jane may be human, but per council decree, I am her legal caretaker. And the number of school facilities that I assessed before selecting yours was not insignificant. I assure you, you have my confidence that you will act accordingly, and have my permission to treat as necessary. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to return to.”

“Of course, Spectre-”

“Excellent.” Saren cuts the call, and tells himself that the thunk of discomfort in his gullet is due to hunger.

It has been several hours since he has eaten after all.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Deep into his tracking assignment - he’s narrowed down the location of the smuggling ghost to two sectors, with a viable lead in one of them that he is preparing to pursue - Saren manages to put the conversation with the Headmaster out of his mind.

At least, that is, until the next time the man calls.

“Good Evening, Spectre. I know that you’re a busy man, so I’ll get straight to the point.” Saren hums his approval, and the Headmaster continues. “Despite the medication that Miss Shepard has been prescribed, she is still experiencing difficulty sleeping.”

Saren closes his eyes for a moment to center the rush of annoyance and...something else he is in no way shape or form prepared to name. In fact, he actively intends to ignore whatever it may be.

He’s more than willing to embrace the feeling of annoyance though. “Is it merely ineffective, or is she not taking it as prescribed?” He’s hardly knowledgeable in human medicine, and so he can’t imagine what they expect _him_ to do about it, but it’s clear they expect _something_ or they wouldn’t be calling.

The Headmaster tilts his head back and forth, the grainy feed sending a glaring reflection of light off the colony markings decorating the sides of his face and forehead. “We’re uncertain. She has gone from simply spending the night awake in her bed to wandering off from her room after lights out.”

Saren’s mandibles flutter out a moment before settling with a huff of air. “She does that. Check the kitchens, you’ll probably find her asleep on a table.”

The Headmaster grimaces. “Perhaps on board your ship it was the mess, but here her location of choice is the custodial closet of her dorm. We installed an upgraded locking mechanism to it, and last night we found that she’d overwritten the system, and locked herself _in_.”

Saren suppresses a chuckle. The situation more humorous now that it’s not _him_ directly dealing with her antics. “Yes. She does that too. I find it’s best to give her an outlet for her tendencies. If you give her a puzzle to work on, it should keep her occupied long enough that she will wear herself out and go to sleep on her own.”

“Spectre, with all due respect-” The communication array dings with another incoming call. And since this one is from the Council, Saren sees no recourse but to answer.

“My apologies, Headmaster. But I have to take this call, you understand. I trust that your staff can handle the situation.”

Even over the shoddy still-as-yet impaired communication array on his ship, Saren can detect frustration bleeding through the Headmaster’s voice when he responds. “Of course we can, but-”

“Good.” Saren swaps the one call for the next, the grainy image of the asari Councilor taking over that of the Headmaster. “Good day, Councilor. How can I help you?”

If there is a small, infinitesimal bead of concern for Jane rolling around at the back of Saren’s skull while he provides his mission status report, he does a remarkable job ignoring it.

* * *

 ~~~\/~~~

* * *

One galactic week and an apprehended smuggler in Council custody later, and Saren can no longer ignore it.

“I don’t **wanna** take the pills! They taste like snot, and they make me groggy and my head gets heavy, and I hate it.” Though Saren can’t see it, he can hear the stomp of Jane’s foot out of sight of the camera.

Saren rubs the middle of his forehead with the pad of his thumb. “They are _supposed_ to make you groggy, Jane. They are a _sleep aid._ You need an adequate amount of sleep to function, and the medical staff indicate that you are _not_ getting enough. So you will take the pills.”

“But-”

Saren watches as the stubborn set of Jane’s jaw gives way to a wobble. Sees how her demeanor crumples in just a smidge at the command, and how little she wants to comply with it, and so he opts for a different tactic. “Jane. Why have you been locking yourself in a custodial closet at night?”

“‘Cause the electrical closet makes a loud humming noise and it’s annoying.”

Saren blinks in rapid succession at the statement. “...that is not what I meant, and you know it.”

She blows out a long stream of air, ruffling the hair dangling over the side of her face, before offering an over-exaggerated shrug. The action appearing stilted through the screen. “The dorm room. It’s big. I have roommates, two of ‘em.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“One of them snores! And there’s windows. And the door doesn’t even **lock**. And anyone could just come in whenever they _want_ and I…” She trails off, her lower lip quivering. It could just be an effect of the shaky connection, but Saren doesn’t think it is, and so he figures he’s finally got the lay of things.

“You don’t feel safe.”

She shrugs again, her eyes turned down and away, but offers up no denials.

“I will speak with the Headmaster, Jane, and arrange for different sleeping quarters. In exchange you will agree to take the pills.”

“I don’t _want_ -”

“You only need to take them until your sleeping patterns even out. No longer.” When Jane opens her mouth as if to argue further, Saren firms up his voice, layering insistence throughout it. “If you continue to refuse, they’ll be forced to give them to you as an injection.”

Her mouth snaps shut. After a moment her eyes narrow. “You’ll get me a new room?”

Saren leans closer to the camera in a manufactured effort at closing the distance between them. A useless gesture that he can’t seem to prevent himself from offering. “I will.”

He watches as she swallows and then nods. “Okay.”

“Okay, _what_?”

She glares at him. Arms coming up to cross over her chest. “ _Okay,_ I’ll take the pills.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding. We will speak again soon.” After that, he disconnects the call and places one directly to the Headmaster’s office to arrange for Jane’s new room.

An obscenely long time later the arrangements are made, and Saren slouches back in his chair, sincerely hoping the Council doesn’t take issue with how often he uses his Spectre status for priority transmissions between Jane’s school and his ship.

He assures himself that it’s only until she gets settled, after that, he is certain everything will return to normal.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

As it happens, in time, everything _does_ settle back to normal. If you accept that normal is now a weird hodge-podge of his old life tracking down the refuse of the galaxy for the Council, punctuated by irregular updates on the goings on of one Jane Shepard.

His human ward. That he took on of his own accord.

 _Voluntarily._   

It boggles the mind.

The ship’s quieter since Jane went to school, at least. That’s for certain. The lack of child-related noises echoing around the small space allows him to focus on all the knocks and dings and squeaks that his aging ship has begun to make as it cries out for much-needed attention.

If it’s not the child, it’s the ship. He thinks that there may be a metaphor in there somewhere.

Jane’s absence does means that he has full access to his tools at any time that he wants or needs, and so in the momentary lull between capturing one criminal and locating the next, he’s managed to fix the communication systems, if nothing else.

Which, as he answers a call from Jane’s school - _again_ \- Saren reminds himself was _not_ a mistake.

The council needs to be able to reach him after all.

“Headmaster.”

“Afternoon, Spectre. If you have a few moments, I wanted to provide you with both some good news and some...irregular news.”

Internally, Saren sighs, but externally he merely lifts a brow ridge. Whatever it is surely can’t be that bad as despite the cautionary statement amusement is rolling off the Headmaster in waves. “Go ahead.”

“The good news is that Miss Shepard’s sleeping patterns appear to have evened out. Our medical staff has indicated that the change in room assignments has been beneficial for her overall. Obtaining an adequate amount of sleep has also allowed her personality to begin to come through more readily, and as a result she has begun to make some friends here. The positive interaction appears to be doing a world of good for performance in her classes, with her teachers reporting stellar marks across the board.”

A tension that Saren had been unaware of holding releases itself from his shoulders and upper back at the proclamation. Perturbed by the sudden lighter feeling, he shakes himself and asks, “and the irregular news?”

It’s obvious by the way that the Headmaster holds himself still, and the higher pitched trill in his voice that he’s just stopping himself from laughing. Saren supposes it’s a good thing that the man can find some enjoyment in his chosen career, seeing as how Saren would sooner space himself than do the older turian’s job.

“The irregular news is that it also appears that said group of friends have recently released a declaration of war, a _prank war_ , against the rest of the student body.”

Saren closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Tell me that she didn’t build a catapult.”

The Headmaster laughs in a way that suggests he thinks Saren is joking. “Thank the Spirits, _no!_ However, she _does_ appear to have some aptitude for mechanics.”

Saren can do nothing but agree as he settles in for the rest of the Headmaster’s tale. 

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

As the weeks, and then the months, trip on by, the calls do not lessen in frequency. Though Saren is mollified by the realization that the Headmaster wishes he had fewer reasons to call as much as Saren does.

“Hello, _again,_ Loraion.”

“Good morning, Spectre.” While those are the words the Headmaster uses, the tone of his voice indicates that his morning has been _anything_ but good.

By contrast, Saren’s day has been excellent so far - having made an impressive amount of progress on his newest assignment that morning - so he takes a little pity on the man, and asks with as much kindness as he can manage. “I assume all is well, and that this call is to inform me that Jane has been behaving in an exemplary manner?”

“Well, her marks _are_ excellent. Unfortunately, that is not why I’m calling. My staff has informed me that Miss Shepard has recently learned how to reprogram the drink dispensers…”

And just like that, Saren’s day immediately goes down hill.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

“This is _boring_.”

“This is necessary.” Saren doesn’t look up over the armor he’s assessing for damage. He’d taken one hell of a hit while on assignment before he’d had to retrieve Jane for the week for her first term break, and while he can’t yet see the fissure he knows must be present at the joint between the collar and the shoulder, he’s determined to locate it.

“ _Ugh!_ I wanna do something fun. Like go to the Citadel.”

Saren eyes her for a moment, watching as her hands stutter over the parts that she’s been assigned to clean. “You’ve never been to the Citadel. How do you know that won’t be equally boring?”

Jane shrugs. “Kids at school.” A moment of quiet fills the space between them, her focus moving over to what he’s doing rather than staying on her own task. “Is it true it’s like an entire city on a ship? With houses and lakes and parks and stuff?”

Saren hums out an affirmative. “There’s quite a bit more to it than that, but essentially, yes.”

“I bet it’s beautiful and _interesting_. And that they have _chocolate_.” Saren has no idea what that is, but the wistful way that Jane says the word let’s him know that it must be something she enjoys. “My Mom always said that the bigger the place, the better the chocolate...”

Saren taps at the pile of parts lying abandoned in front of Jane in favor of her daydreaming. “Did your Mother also stress the importance of equipment maintenance?”

“O’course.” Jane sits further back in her seat squinting at the armor in Saren’s hands, her head tilted to the side. “There’s a crack there.”

Saren blinks at her. “Pardon?”

She jabs a finger at the armor, He follows as the tiny digit traces the fissure he’s been looking for. “There. See it?”

“I do. Excellent catch.”

Jane beams at the praise, bouncing back into her seat and picking up her cleaning rag with renewed enthusiasm.

If questioned, Saren will insist that the reason they end up at the Citadel on the second to last day of Jane’s break is pure practicality.

After all, they have to refuel _somewhere_.

* * *

 ~~~\/~~~

* * *

_*cha-ding* *cha-ding* *cha-ding*_

The noise from Saren’s communication system announcing a call is officially his least favorite sound in the galaxy.

He allows it to chime for several long, annoying seconds while he debates answering.

He gives in, of course, but he doesn’t bother to put down the rifle scope that he’s cleaning. “Headmaster, now isn’t-”

“Saren.” The name is hissed out of the mouth of a positively _frazzled_ looking Loraion. A point that is as equally evident by his use of Saren’s first name as opposed to his title, as much as it is by his harried, sleep-deprived appearance.

Saren sits up to attention, adrenaline rushing through his system and putting him on high alert. “Loraion, what’s happened?”

“ _About that catapult…_ ”

The adrenal flood hits a wall, and Saren’s face hits his palm.

* * *

 ~~~\/~~~

* * *

“Spectre, I would like to start by stating that while no one was seriously injured, there was a scuffle involving Miss Shepard and another student that has resulted in disciplinary action for them both.”

Sometimes an adrenal rush _is_ warranted, however. “What _sort_ of a scuffle?”

“Another student said something...disparaging regarding humans in general, and Miss Shepard’s parents in specific. Miss Shepard retaliated by assaulting the other student. He sustained minor wounds to the nose and chin, while Miss Shepard sustained incidental damage to her wrist.”

Saren nods along to the rest of the conversation, agreeing or disagreeing where most appropriate, but his focus the whole time is on the need to teach Jane the proper way to throw a punch so that she doesn’t injure herself any more than necessary, while providing maximum damage to her opponent.

He begins outlining a training regimen for her next term break before the call has even ended.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

There are times, less frequent though they may be, when Saren finds cause to call the Headmaster instead.

“Spectre Arterius. Did we have a call scheduled today?”

“No, we did not, Headmaster. However, I‘ve received a request for an additional withdrawal from my accounts from you institution. With the tagline ‘for repair of damages sustained.’ Can you please clarify what this is regarding?” Saren growls out the request, anger and annoyance slipping through unchecked in his subvocals.

The Headmaster doesn’t appear even the slightest bit cowed by the display. Instead, he chuckles. _Chuckles!_ And says “Miss Shepard hacked into the drone video systems during one of our recent assemblies. Or should I say, she _attempted_ to hack into the drone systems. The result was that three of our drones were sent careening down into the pavement, where they were destroyed on impact. If you would like, I can provide you an itemized list of damages.”

“...That will not be necessary, Headmaster. I’ll approve the funding transfer immediately.”

“The school appreciates your continued support, Spectre.”

Idly, Saren contemplates how young is too young to be given latrine duty.

* * *

 ~~~\/~~~

* * *

As time ticks on by, not all the calls are about things that Jane has broken into or even merely just _broken_. Some of them are of a more personal nature that always make Saren feel wrong-footed.

“Spectre, I assure you-”

It is a feeling that Saren doesn’t not handle very well.

“Yes, yes. I heard you the first time, Headmaster.” Saren snaps. Talons clenched tight by his side. “Let’s dispense with your _assurances_ for the moment and you can instead **get to the point**.”

The Headmaster, whom Saren has gotten to know somewhat well thanks to their frequent calls, flattens his mandibles against the side of his face, agitation holding them in place.

“ _T_ _he point_ , Spectre, is that Miss Shepard is homesick.”

Saren frowns. “Unsurprising. She lost her entire colony as you well know. I hardly see what you expect **me** to _do_ about that.”

“On occasion, children desire exposure to that which is most familiar. For Miss Shepard, that is _you_. We believe that her homesickness may therefore be abated if you were to visit her here.”

“Visit?” Saren blinks rapidly. “It’s been less than a quarter since her most recent term break...”

The look the Headmaster gives Saren reminds him of his father, and how Saren had never quite measured up to the man’s expectations. It causes an uncomfortable itch along Saren’s plates.

“In our ample experience, we find that it is often beneficial for pupils who are being boarded away from home to receive the occasional visit, outside of scheduled breaks, from their family members.” The Headmaster stares down Saren through the feed, and while Saren doesn’t squirm, the urge to do so is troubling all the same. “This _was_ covered in the orientation materials if you recall.”

“Yes, I do recall, however-”

“Good. I’m glad that we’re in agreement. I trust you will plan a visit as soon as your schedule allows?” The low-level warning in the Headmaster’s subharmonics carries over clear as a bell through the communication array. A warning that tells Saren that if his schedule doesn’t allow an immediate visit, he better _make_ it do so, _soon_.

“...I am completing a mission at present. I’ll make arrangements to visit once it is complete.”

“See that you do.”

For once, it is the Headmaster that ends the call, instead of Saren.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Saren pushes his hard-fought for cargo down into the jumpseat, and begins the process of securing the asari criminal to the chair for the flight to the Citadel.

Ten galactic weeks. That’s how long it has taken Saren to locate this one. She’d run him ragged straight through the Terminus and back again. Made a fool of him when she’d gone stomping through Omega, where Aria had made her opinion regarding him arresting anyone _very_ clear. But finally, _finally,_ she’d slipped up, and he’d been able to grab her just on the outer edge of the Nimbus Cluster.

He’s barely slept in the last five days, his food intake is nearing dangerously low levels, his terminal is blinking red with more than a dozen unread messages, and he has a headache the size of the Traverse pounding at the front of his skull. All he wants now is to strap in, and enjoy a quiet ride to the Citadel.

But because the theme of Saren’s life is ‘nothing is ever easy,’ his cargo begins squawking at him the moment the ship’s doors shut.

“Come on, Spectre! Cut me some slack. It was just a _tiny_ bit of theft-”

“You illegally appropriated, disassembled, and redistributed _three_ airships across the galaxy. What about that seems _small_ to you?”

“Well, they were all in _very_ _tiny bits_ when I sold them-” Saren tightens the bonds at the criminal’s feet, not bothering to suppress the pleased rumble in his chest at the sound of his prisoner's grunt of discomfort.

The pain is, unfortunately, not enough to shut her up. “I can make it worth your while! I mean, look at this hunk-of-junk you’re calling a ship! It’s obvious the Council isn’t paying you enough.”

Saren glares at the asari, offense mixing with a hint of annoyance. His ship might not be pristine, but a hunk of junk it is _not_. He flares his mandibles out, ready to lay into the criminal when his ship’s comm chooses that moment to buzz to life.

Saren groans, knowing without looking who it is. He grabs the nearest available piece of cloth (a not terribly dirty rag from his gun cleaning kit) and gag’s the woman before settling in front of the screen to answer.

“Loraion, what has she done this time?” He growls, cutting right to the point.

“Hello to you too, Saren. Do you have a few moments?”

“I have an intergalactic thief in custody who needs to be delivered to the Council for arraignment. Can this wait?”

The Headmaster blinks, surprise overtaking him at the statement. Saren tries to suppress the swell of pride at taking the man off guard. Enjoying how the reminder that he _is_ actually someone of importance in the galaxy affects the other man.

“Of course, Spectre. My apologies for the interruption. Miss Shepard had indicated that she’d been attempting to reach you with no success and -”

“Yes, I’ve been off ship. Apprehending the aforementioned criminal. Please let Jane know that I will call as soon as I am able.”

“I will. I’m sure she would appreciate that.”

Saren disconnects the call, and turns back to the captive in the jumpseat. She’s looking at him through pinched eyes, head tilted at an angle like it’ll permit her a better view. He spends a few, spirits blessed moments of silence debating the ethics behind leaving the gag in place for the duration of the trip before determining that, despite how appealing an idea it may be, he ought not.  

She coughs out a breath as soon as it’s been discarded, spending a few moments spitting out stray fibers that were left behind. He uses the time to plot their course, and begins the process of sending out a notification blast to the council.

“So...you got a kid stashed away at some school, huh?”

Saren ignores her.

“Shepard? That her mother’s name, or she using an assumed one to stay under the radar?”

Saren keys in the coordinate sequence into the nav panel, regretting his choice to remove the gag.

She chuckles, the sound grating on his nerves. “The latter, huh? Smart. Not many _Arterius’_ running around the galaxy. She’d make a pretty little piece of blackmail against you, if anyone ever found-”

“I advise you to think _very carefully_ about your next choice of words.” In complete opposition to the sudden burning rage boiling up through him, Saren’s voice is cold. Cold and laced with every ounce of malice he can conjure. (Judging by the way that the asari’s skin pales and eyes widen, it’s quite a bit.) “I’ve yet to send the message about your capture to the Council. And it would be _far easier_ for me to deliver you to them _dead_ than alive.”

The remainder of the trip to the Citadel is blessedly free of conversation.

* * *

 ~~~\/~~~

* * *

“Jane you can’t call me with every inconsequential-”

“But it’s NOT inconse- inconseque- _ugh!_ It’s **important!** ”

“Are you physically injured?”

“No, but-”

“Have any of your belongings been stolen, destroyed, or otherwise had their continued use rendered impossible?”

“No…”

“Have _you_ physically injured anyone? Stolen, destroyed, or otherwise rendered someone else’s belongings no longer usable?”

“...No...”

“Then it _is_ inconsequential. And I do **not** have the time to deal with it at the moment. Whatever it is, I trust you to handle it-”

“But, I-”

“And if you _can’t,_ speak with the Headmaster and I am sure he can assist.” 

“ _Fine!_ ”

* * *

 ~~~\/~~~

* * *

Saren is tapping away at his console, working his way through the laborious task of filing post-mission reports, when the familiar ping of the communication array echos in the cabin. He doesn’t bother looking up as he taps the connection open. Too familiar with the process by far at this point.

“Headmaster? I had a feeling I would be hearing from you soon.”

“Yes. I imagine that you did.” The elder turian’s words are tight, clipped. His vocal patterns, both the top layer and his subvocals, are positively teeming with frustration and annoyance. It’s enough to draw Saren’s eyes away from his work.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s not what happened, it’s what _didn’t happen_. Can I be frank with you, Spectre?”

Saren blinks, straightening in his chair at the serious tone and question. “Yes.”

“Good. I think perhaps you need to be reminded that we are a _school,_ **not** a parenting service. While there are many aspects of a child’s life that we will obviously be involved in, _sometimes_ , a child needs their _parent._ Not an educator.”

“Jane’s parents are dead, Loraion.”

“Yes. They are. But I also happen to have a copy of custodial rights documents _signed by you_ that indicate you have, _willingly_ , taken on that roll for Miss Shepard. And, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, it is a roll that Miss Shepard _herself_ has cast you in now as well. She looks to you for both support, and guidance.”

Saren has no comment to that statement. It seems obvious, when said out loud, and yet...Saren hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms before. She was his ward, yes. And so, that made him responsible for her, but did that make him her _parent_?

He’s as surprised by the resounding  _YES_ that reverberates in his skull as he is _not surprised_ by the way a part of him recoils instinctively at the very thought.

The Headmaster takes advantage of Saren’s dumbfounded state, and continues on. “It’s a very gracious thing you’ve done, agreeing to raise a child that is not your own, Spectre. _Saren_. But it is a responsibility that comes with more burdens than merely signing off on a tuition check.”

The elder turian's eyes go steely. “One of those, and this may come as a surprise to you, is actually assisting in _raising her_. That means that when she has an issue and she seeks you out for help or advice? You need to _listen to her_ not just tell her to _call me_ in the middle of **our** **night cycle**.”

“I - of course.”

“Good.”

The Headmaster disconnects, uncaring about the poleaxed turian he’s left in his wake.

* * *

 ~~~\/~~~

* * *

It’s the middle of _Saren’s_ night cycle the next time he receives a call from Jane’s school. He’s just completed an extended mission, and the lack of sleep has taken its toll, leaving him desperate for rest.

He scratches the sleep away from the edges of his eyes, not bothering with the pleasantries when he answers, merely barks out a “What?!” at the Headmaster on the other end of the call.

“I’m sorry for waking you, Saren. I’d like to start by assuring you that Miss Shepard is fine-”

All traces of exhaustion evaporate at the statement, and the soft way in which the Headmaster makes it.It makes Saren sit up straighter in his seat. “What’s happened?”

“There was an...incident. During one of the routine fitness courses. Miss Shepard sustained a minor injury.”

“If it was _minor_ , you wouldn’t be calling. Explain.” Saren’s already keying in the coordinates for the school as he speaks, allowing the nav systems to calculate the quickest route. (It’s not quick, it’ll take at least three relay jumps and another half-day besides to reach the school.)

He doesn’t even question what he’s doing while he’s doing it.

“She fell while maneuvering through a ropes course. Her left arm was broken. The break was clean, however. Our medical staff assure me it should be healed in quick order. She will require several days of rest, and-”

“Fell?” Saren snarls. “Do you not have precautions in place to avoid such incidents?!”

The Headmaster appears chagrined, the sight ratcheting up Saren’s anger. “ _We do,_ of course. But part of this particular course included students belaying one another. Miss Shepard’s partner lost her grip on the line, and Miss Shepard was unexpectedly dropped several meters.” 

Saren curses. _Audibly_. Loud enough that the Headmaster flinches over the line. “I’m on my way.”

* * *

  ~~~\/~~~

* * *

“ _Ugh!_ I don’t _want_ to go to the Citadel _again_. It’s boring. Can we go to Omega instead?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But-”

“You have two more hours to memorize that series of katas, Jane. At which point I _will_ be testing you. And if you fail because you haven’t bothered to practice-”

“Latrines?”

“Yes. Latrines.”

* * *

  ~~~\/~~~

* * *

In retrospect, Jane’s first years at school skip on by; and before Saren knows it, he has a human teenager on his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, the next chapter will bring with it a POV of someone OTHER than Saren! (It's Jane. I'm talking about Jane.) So stay tuned.
> 
> [Also, please feel free to come visit me on my tumblr folks!](http://skybound2.tumblr.com/) I'm having a ton of fun exploring who these characters are growing to be in this world (both Jane AND Saren) and would love to chat with you about it as well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, folks! We have now entered the teenage Shepard years! Which, to better appreciate, means a POV shift to Shepard. Also, as a warning, some drama on the horizon now folks. Sorry. (The teenage years, what can you do?)
> 
> Thanks again to all my readers, you're awesome and I love you all :-D
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The boarding school is nothing like the farm.

The farm had been warm and dusty. The breeze from the nearby river kicking up dry leaves and soil; blowing them over everything. Gumming up the machinery so her Dad was always tinkering with it to get it working again; Jane by his side watching, or handing him tools. Her Ma would complain about them tracking mud and engine grease into the house, but she’d be smiling the whole while. 

It had been quiet, but busy. ‘Organized Chaos’ her father had called it. The town center bustling with all sorts of traders and merchants, people coming and going from one space port to the next. Mostly human, but with enough asari and salarians, and even turians, that the populace was never quite the same from day to day. (On one memorable occasion, Jane recalls, there had been even been a _krogan_. A botanist, selling seeds. The colonists had been stiff; wary in a way that Jane couldn’t understand. But he’d been _nice_ to Jane. Indulgent. Letting her skitter around his feet pestering him with questions. He’d only been around for a day, but Jane had missed him when he’d left.) 

The evenings had been cool, and dark. On clear nights, Jane would get to stay up well past bedtime while her Ma would point our all of the stars and planets and nebulas that littered the landscape of the sky. Making sure Jane knew where they came from, and why it was important to never forget.

The boarding school, by contrast, is climate controlled. With aggressive air exchange systems making certain no speck of dust stands a chance.

The days (and nights) are structured, varying schedules of predictable things. Designed for ‘Preparing Our Pupils for Exceptional Futures!’

There are no humans, save for Jane. Which, after so much time with only Saren for company, wasn’t such a big adjustment. And once she got use to everything, it was even kind of _nice_ to be around so many people her own age again. Even if it did come with it’s fair share of stares, and questions about the ‘weird floppy fringe on her head.’

As far as the evening skies go, well, the stars _are_ more impressive at the school then back at the farm. With curtains of black surrounding all sides of the small moon on which the campus is situated, the unobstructed view is outstanding. It’s a view Jane figures she’d more readily appreciate if she ever got time to view it outside of her astrophysics courses.

That’s okay though, Jane thinks, as she watches the stars sliding past her field of vision through the window on Saren’s bridge; she likes this view better anyway. Likes how it means that she’s moving _towards_ something. Like she’s a _participant_ and not just an idle viewer memorizing facts or learning theories.

She’s still not fully sold on this newer ship that Saren’s acquired, though, even if the view is equally as nice as on the previous one.  

The old ship may have been little more than a shuttle in disguise as a two-crew exploration vehicle, but it had _character_. Dings and dents, and near-constant system malfunctions that she’d been able to fuss with whenever she was on board. Things to keep her busy when Saren was off-ship (which was often), or working on his reports.

This new one though - a proper half-scale corvette, with room for five - is bland. Stale. Sure it’s more spacious, with so many bells and whistles that the bells and whistles have their own bells and whistles, but it lacks the charm of the ship she’d been rescued in.

There’s a small square of space that’s all her own on board though - with a door and everything! Which, to a freshly thirteen year old use to sharing her sleeping quarters like Jane is, might just be the single most unexpected, and amazing thing in the galaxy.

So it’s not entirely without its own charms she supposes.

“Where are we headed?”

Saren’s attention doesn’t deviate from the console in front of him, but he gestures towards the jumpseat with a jut of his head. “You’ve completed your navigational module. You tell me." 

A pleased smile flips the corners of Jane’s mouth up, as she slips into the seat. The smile morphs into a frown as she flicks through the data at the console. Stupid new-fangled ship is harder to make sense of then the shuttle. She switches between view options, seeking the data that she needs, hopping in place with a bright ‘a-ha!’ when she finds it. “The Mactare System?”

“Is that a question, or a statement?”

Jane blows air over her lips, making a 'pftting' sound, but repeats her comment all the same. “The Mactare System.”

“Correct. And what is located there?”

Jane mulls the question over, pulling the information together, wanting to give as complete an answer as possible. “The turian colony of Taetrus. And several mining camps along an asteroid belt. Beryllium and copper make up the bulk of exports, but there are pockets of eezo too.”

Saren 'hmms,' which she guesses is an affirmative, but doesn’t offer up any additional info.

Jane waits, sitting in the jumpseat, twiddling her thumbs for all of thirty seconds before she caves and asks. “So...what are we going to be doing there?”

Saren, as Saren is wont to do, doesn’t respond until enough time has passed that Jane gets antsy. (He tells her that she needs to work on her patience, she thinks he needs to work on his tendency for being judgemental.)

“I’ve been given an assignment. My leads indicate that my objective is hiding out in one of the mining camps.”

The small stirrings of excitement that had been building in Jane die an abrupt death at the prospect of being stuck on-ship while Saren goes off galavanting during the short time that she gets to be home. “Oh.”

A pinging at the console in front of Jane grabs her attention away from feeling sorry for herself. She looks down, eyes widening at the information filling the screen. Confusion layers on top of surprise as she reads over it. “What...I, I don’t…”

“As you can see. This particular criminal is not known to be violent, nor particularly dangerous. But they are...wily. Having an extra set of eyes keeping track of outgoing transmissions and port activity while I’m off-ship would be...beneficial.” 

“I...you’re going to let me _help_? With a **mission**? **_Really_**!?” The pitch of Jane’s voice grows higher and higher with every word, making Saren cringe. But Jane can’t seem to stop it, not with adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream at the prospect of getting to help Saren with a real, _actual_ mission!

“You are more than capable to the task. However, should you try and leave the ship-”

“I won’t! I promise!” Jane holds her hand up in an approximation of a turian salute. Saren makes a noise at the action somewhere between a snort and an aborted laugh. It makes Jane grin. “I’ll stay on-board the entire time.”

“Good. Now, please review the packet I’ve given you in its entirety, and when you are done, we’ll discuss the mission parameters.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Sometimes, Jane thinks, living with a Spectre is _awesome_.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Sometimes, Jane thinks, living with a Spectre is _awful_.

“I’m fine, Saren!” Jane sniffles, scrubbing the back of her arm across her face, not caring about the snot and spittle that smears along the fabric of her shirt.

“Jane-”

“Go ‘way!” Jane knocks her skull against the bulkhead, hoping he can hear the thunk. Hoping that he'll  _leave._

“Jane. We’re on the same ship. A ship designed for a crew complement of no more than five. Where, precisely, do you expect me to go?”

“I don’t care? How about the bridge, or the mess, or the airlock?! Just anywhere that is not _right outside of my door_ , for Spirits sake!”

“You’re invoking the Spirits now? Did you undergo a religious conversion when I wasn’t looking?”

Jane growls, letting her frustration at his persistence build up. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” The words slip out on a sputter that’s made watery by half-choked back tears.

A beat of silence answers her, and for a moment Jane thinks he’s actually done as she requested and left. But then his voice filters through the door, more subdued than she can recall hearing it in some time. Maybe ever.

“I can hear you crying, Jane.”

Jane heaves out a long whistle of a breath. Resigning herself to not being able to scare him off. Still, she refuses to open the door. She rolls her head against the bulkhead, hating herself a little for the emotional outburst. “I started menstruating, okay? And I - My Mom...I miss my Mom. I just - I wish she was here. I want _her_ here.”

“...I see. Is there…” His voice trails off, and if Jane were in any way able to pay him a lick of attention, maybe she’d pick up on the uncertainty pouring through his subvocals. “...I’ll be in the mess.”

Jane shakes her head, knowing that he can’t see her, and reaches up to rub the moisture away from her face.

A useless action in the end, as the damnable tears sting her eyes again as soon as the sounds of his steps fade from her ears.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Turns out, even new ships need adjustments sometimes.

“What does the output say now?” Sarens voice is muffled by the placement of his head inside the engineering console, but Jane can hear him well enough.

“Holding at 58% complete. Looks like the problem is one of the control board lines.” Saren makes a low-pitched hiss of annoyance, and tugs with more force than is advisable on one of the lines. Jane holds back a snort. “You want me to give it a try?”

“I’m quite capable of making simple repairs to my own ship, Jane.”

Jane smiles at his frustrated tone. “I’m smaller. Younger eyes... Might be helpful.”

Saren grumbles out something about insubordinate children, but doesn’t relent, and they continue their work in tandem. His head hidden away in a mess of wires, while Jane watches the screen and hands him tools. It’s...comfortable. And it makes Jane think that maybe it would be okay to breach a topic she’s been wondering about for a while now. “Saren?” 

“Hmm?”

“Who’s, uh, who’s ‘Desolas’?”

Saren’s hand pauses mid-movement, his whole body going stiff. Jane holds her breath until he starts moving again and says, “hand me the wire cutter.” 

Jane blinks, oddly surprised by the lack of acknowledgement, and hands him the cutter. “Saren? I asked-”

“I _heard_ what you asked, Jane.” His words are short, biting. “I’m choosing not to answer a question we both know you already know the answer to.”

Jane shakes her head, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean? I don’t-”

Saren slides out from the console, eyes narrow and angry. “You do. You wouldn’t be asking me if you _didn’t_.”

Jane fidgets in place where she’s sitting on her legs. “Okay. Fine. I… do. Know who he is. I mean.”

Saren nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Waiting until the silence goes on too long, and Jane can’t continue to hold back. “He was your brother! But you never, you never mention him.”

“Yes. He was. And no. I don’t. He’s dead, as I’m sure you know already.” The tension in Saren’s frame across from her is a near tangible thing. “Tell me, Jane. Did you learn about him over the extranet, or did you access my files again?”

“I…” Jane swallows down a nauseous ball of guilt. “The extranet. At school. I didn’t, I haven’t-” She shakes her head, because they both know that she’s not above reading his files, but this...this seemed like something she should _ask_. “There wasn’t much information available, but I was able to figure out he was your brother, and that he was...so I wanted to... _ask_.”

Saren holds her gaze for a few breaths, then nods. “Did the extranet articles you read mention that he was a traitor to the Hierarchy? Or that I ordered his death?”

Jane shivers, shaking her head again. “No. They didn’t.”

“Hmm. Impressive. Some things actually _do_ remain classified.”

He ducks his head back inside the console to tug at another set of wires.

Jane thinks about her family, and her neighbors. All dead. She thinks about Saren's older brother, and Saren having to...

And Jane...Jane lets it go.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

“Again”

Jane ducks and runs, dodging the drones aiming for her head with a nimble turn of her upper body. She lands in a crouch, one hand on the ground, the other clutching at her weapon.

With a twist of her head, left then right, she assesses the field: two mechs powering up at nine o’clock, and the whirring sound of a third at her six. Her objective glows brightly in the distance. She pushes off from the ground into a sprint towards cover, firing in a blind arc to her left. She lucks out, and one of the mechs goes down.

She rolls behind a crate, panting. She checks her shields and then pops her head up enough to sight down her enemies, only to be zapped at by the forgotten drone. “Shit.” She drops back into hiding and attempts to key in a sequence into her omni-tool, fumbling over it as the crate shakes from a mech attack.

A few seconds later than she would have liked, both the drone and the nearest mech fizzle and fry, their circuits overloaded. She whoops in glee at her success and, before the distraction fades, leans to the side and aims for the final mech, stopping it in its tracks with a clean shot to the head.

That taken care of, she darts from cover and zig-zags to her objective - a locked shipping crate. She gets to work on the decryption sequence, only to be stopped mid-way by a loud siren. Her shoulders sag with disappointment, she was so _close_ that time.

The siren stops and Saren’s voice comes over her comm, a note of frustration in his tone. “You were too slow, and your target was compromised. Reset and head back to the start. Again.”

She glares at the little blinking light above the nearest camera. She just made it through the final stage of a _level six_ training exercise, and all he has to say is too slow? Seriously? Not one word about the head-shot she got off near the end, or the improvement she’s made in her tech skills? She doesn’t stomp back to the entrance, because a fourteen year old does not stomp, but she does grumble unkind words beneath her breath the whole time. 

“You are aware that I can hear you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

This time, she makes it to the objective with time to spare, but at the cost of a wound to her side where one of the mechs breaches her shields and her armor. It’s simulated of course, but even simulated pain hurts. Still, she finishes. She gives the camera a self-satisfied smile, silently challenging her observer to dispute her success.

“That was sloppy. Just look at how you’re limping. You don’t do enough to guard your left flank. Any enemy worth a damn will exploit that, and you’ll be dead. Go again.”

Her jaw drops. “But, I reached the objective-”

“Again.”

“Fine.” This time, there may just be a small amount of stomping. Minuscule, really. When the simulation is finished, she has taken a wound to both her side and her back, but the objective is still down.

“ _Again_.”

She doesn’t make it to the objective, but she does hack one of the drones long enough for it to take out the remaining mechs while she lays twitching on the ground, recovering.

“ **Again**.”

She closes her eyes, and begins to lever herself back to a sitting position, mentally preparing herself for his wrath. “No.”

There is no response for three beats of her heart. When it comes, his voice isn't laced with anger, but confusion. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m hungry. I’m exhausted. My side is killing me. I need a break.”

And just like that, the confusion in his voice is gone, and frustration reigns supreme again. “What a pity you won’t get any breaks in the middle of a battle. Again.”

“I said no.”

“And I said-”

“I don’t care **what** you said, Saren! This is supposed to be my holiday, and I’ve done _nothing_ but run simulation after simulation since I got home! I am taking. A. Break.” All thoughts to not stomping are gone as she makes her way back to the entrance, stripping off her armor as she goes and letting it drop in a trail behind her.

Saren, of course, is waiting at the entrance for her, arms crossed over his chest and sharp hawk-eyes glaring at her in irritation. “Just where do you think you’re going, child?”

She leans back on her hip, arms crossed in a mirror of his position. “Showers. Food. Maybe a little R&R. You know, that sort of thing?”

“Your mission -”

“This wasn’t a _mission_ , Saren. It was a sim. and I’m declaring it done.”

He reaches up to rub the plates between his eyes, a common habit of his when they argue. “You can’t declare it done. Only your Commanding Officer can declare a mission complete, in the military-”

Anger flares inside her at his words. “But I’m NOT military, and I’m not GOING to be.” Her voice cracks at the statement, but she ignores it, pushing on. “We both know that the Hierarchy isn’t going to let me into their ranks.”

“We don’t-”

Her arms fall to swing by her sides, as she paces away from him. “I’ve **seen** the correspondence, Saren. They’re not going to. It doesn’t matter _how many_ sims you run me through, or how many extra projects I complete at school. It’s not going to happen!”

Saying the words out loud is both a relief and depressing. They’ve never really talked about what was going to happen to her when she hit the age of majority for turians, but since she’s been his ward, the implication that she would join the military has hung in the air. Despite her genetics. Owning up to the fact that it’s not going to happen is difficult. The unknown future it creates both scary and exhilarating at the same time.

That doesn’t quite squash the bitterness she feels when she remembers what she read. Both his words, and theirs. “ _Apparently_ , even your ‘highly compelling arguments’ and ‘impressive training skills’ aren’t enough to convince them to let a mere _human_ be trained with turians. Not even your argument about what a good little spy I’d make managed to sway them, huh, Saren?”

“You’ve been accessing my private files again?” The fact that he sounds more resigned than angry is so very telling regarding his opinion of her that she wants to kick herself for having given that information away. Because, despite how much she tries to pretend it doesn’t, his opinion of her _matters_.

She bites her lower lip and nods. “I’d heard you arguing with someone over the comm the last time I was on break. Several someones. About me.” She shrugs. “I was...curious.”

“I see.” He doesn’t deny it, which of course he never would. Saren may be willing to lie to her face, but he never puts up a fight when he’s been called out. “Well. Be that as it may, there are still many other things that you _can_ do with your skill set, even if joining the turian military is out of the question. It is a hiccup, but it is not a closed door.”

She snorts. Somehow, she doubts that. Her life since he found her has been so focused on this one thing, that she can’t think of much else that she’d be good for at this point aside from the military. Well, except for... “You mean other than becoming a merc?”

He grabs her by the shoulder and turns her to face him, talons stopping just short of painful as they dig into her flesh. He hisses, his subvocals creating a harsh echo. “Yes. Other than that.” 

She looks at him through narrow eyes. She’s not sure she can believe him but a flutter like hope blossoms in her even so. “Like what?”

His mandibles flare out with a huff, closing with a click on an indrawn breath. With a squeeze, he releases her shoulder. “Go. Shower. You stink like oil and dead pyjak.”

“Geez. Thanks.”

“Meet me in the mess when you’re done. We’ll eat and discuss your options.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and Jane?”

“Yes?”

“If I find that you’ve been hacking my files again, your punishment will make this simulation feel like a reward. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Sometimes, Jane forgets how scary Saren can be. He does a lot of blustering around her. Often, he’ll try to be intimidating, but the truth that they never talk about - never discuss - is that he would never, **_ever_ ** hurt her.

She knows this down to her bones.

He might put her through her paces in sims and on missions, he might verbally reprimand her when she does foolish things, but he would never raise a hand to her. And - if she’s honest - most every harsh word he’s said, she’s _earned_.

She’s not an idiot. She knows just how much the antics she got up to when she was first enrolled in school cost him, above and beyond the exorbitant tuition. He could have sent her packing at any time, and yet, _he never did_.

It’s built a sort of trust that she takes for granted, conveniently forgetting that those rules don’t apply to anyone else but her.

A fact that she’s reminded of a week after her fifteenth birthday.

He hadn’t called on the day, but she hadn’t expected him to either. The man is many things, but sentimental isn’t one of them. And, given the fact that this birthday should have - in theory - ushered in her transition to official military training, she figured he was just as eager to ignore it as she was.

But then...he _shows up_. At her dorm. With zero notice.

Which is why he catches her - shirt partially unbuttoned and pressed up around the bottom of her chest, revealing her midriff - with a former classmate of hers that she hasn’t seen since he started basic the prior semester, and whom she was perhaps _a bit_ too enthusiastic in welcoming back.

Things degrade from there.

“What in _Spirits name_ are you **_doing_** , and who the hell are **you**?!”

Jane shuffles to her feet, pulling her shirt back into place, and running her hands through her hair to straighten out the mess she’s certain it’s become. “Saren, wait -” She says, but he doesn’t seem to hear her, too focused on her companion, who has managed to straighten his clothes and scutter to his feet in much less time than her.

“Sir, I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t-”

“Oh, I think I can see what you **were** and were **not** doing, _boy_.”

“I wasn’t-”

Jane rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Annoyed at everyone in the room. “What the hell are you even _doing_ here, Saren?”

“Stay out of this Jane, I’m talking with - what is your name, boy?”

“Quin-Quintus, Sir.”

“Did Jane tell you that I’m a Spectre?”

“No-no, Shepard...she didn’t mention. _That._ Sir.” Quintus shoots Jane a pleading look, but she just shrugs.

Either he can handle Saren, or he can’t. And it’s probably better for all of them if they figure it out now.

“Hmm, no? Well, then allow me to introduce myself...”

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

There are the times when Jane is reminded that among the many traits and skills Saren has, one thing he does _not_ possess is the basic level of decency that prevents most people from saying whatever is on their mind.

"What the hell happened to your face?" 

"Calm down. It's just makeup.” Jane preens. Just a little. Happy with the outcome of her most recent experiment. “Like it?"

"You look like Omega street trash."

"Wow. Thanks. Your opinion has been noted."

Saren gestures at the screen with one hand, like he’s swatting away a bug. "Take it off, I refuse to talk with you when you look like that."

Jane chuckles to cover the way what he says feels like a slap to the face. "You mean all I have to do avoid these lovely chats of ours is don a little makeup? Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"Sarcasm looks ugly on you, Jane."

"Lucky for me that I'm already dressed the part then, huh?"

She disconnects the call before he can respond, not wanting to hear whatever other choice opinions he might decide to give. The fact that she rubs her skin raw in the bathroom afterwards has nothing to do with him. She just decides - independently of course - that makeup isn’t for her.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

It’s official. Saren is the most frustrating person Jane has ever known.

“I just want to discuss the possibility.”

“There is no possibility, so therefore there is nothing _to_ discuss.”

Jane soldiers on. “I’ll be sixteen in a couple of months. The Alliance has pre-training programs for those planning to enlist when they turn eighteen. If we start the process now, I should be able to swap most of my coursework-”

“What part of ‘no’ did you not understand?” Saren growls, stepping in closer, forcing her to lean her head back to meet his gaze.

“The part where you are being completely unreasonable, Saren! I’ve trained my whole life for the military, and-”

“Not your whole life.” Saren’s tone mellows some, to Jane’s confusion.

“Fine. Not my whole life. But since you found me, I have. I’ll be good at this, I know it.”

“Have you learned _nothing_ all these years? The human Alliance is peopled by idiots masquerading as responsible adults, with no concern for the kind of damage that they cause, because they have no _respect_ for anyone but themselves. Is _that_ the sort of organization you want to be a part of?”

Jane rolls her eyes for what may just be the one millionth time. She’s heard this song and dance so many times before, that she could recite it by heart if she wanted. “Don’t forget, Saren, I’m human too. How you managed to put up with that defect all of these years, I have no idea. You clearly despise my whole species. Why do you even _bother_ with me? No, don't answer that. I don't want to know.”

“Don’t be an _idiot,_ Jane, of course you know-”

“No, I don’t, Saren!” Jane’s well beyond the stage where she stomps her feet, though the urge is still there. Instead she clenches her hands in fists, and leans up on her toes to remove some of the height distance between the two of them. “You raised me to be a soldier. You expected me to enlist. To be the Hierarchy’s secret weapon against those ‘stupid little pyjaks!’ But that is _not happening_. You know it. I know it. _They_ know it. So it’s time for us to stop pretending.”

Saren sighs and nods. “You’re not wrong. And...I understand your frustration with the situation. But you must not let that overrule your common sense.” Jane bristles, and leans away from him, turning her head to the side. “If ever there has been a skill that you have been in need of honing, Jane, it is the art of patience. Focus on that now, as well as your studies. My last conference with the Headmaster revealed several areas that I believe can be improved upon with diligent effort on your part.”

“But -”

“I said no, Jane. End of discussion.”

“Fine.” Jane bites back.

But Jane knows, despite what Saren says, the discussion is far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...shout-out to [Usagi1988](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Usagi1988/pseuds/Usagi1988) whose comments on the last chapter spawned inspiration for one of the segments in this chapter. Maybe not as fun a take as yours (which I LOVED), but the inclusion of that scene was definitely inspired by you :-D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hi, folks! I wanted to take a moment to apologize for seeming to disappear on this story. I PROMISE you it is neither abandoned, nor forgotten. My muse just ran off with a pair of vampires, hence the delay in updating. 
> 
> I appreciate you all for sticking with me in the interim, and hope you enjoy this new chapter. (We're getting into some new plot driven areas now!)

It gets harder every year to recall the sound of her mother’s voice, or how bright her father’s smile was, but Jane is determined not to forget them. So she’ll spend time, focusing on the fading memories - back before the batarians showed up and mutilated her life - and build a world around them in her mind.

A world where she is part of a normal family. A world where she is content as a simple farmer’s daughter and has never seen the kinds of horrors that can be wrought by one species on another. But then Saren will call and the fantasy will splinter, and she’ll find herself living an entirely different sort of life.

A familiar, pale blue face with violet markings pops up around the corner of the doorway of the shared dorm room, interrupting Jane’s reverie. “Shepard! You have a vid-call from your father, he -”

“My father’s dead, Elayna.” 

Jane’s roommate rolls her eyes. “Fine. You have a call from your scary-as-shit guardian, and he looks _pissed_.”

Jane sighs, _of course_ he looks pissed. It’s one of his three default states of emotion. The other two being morbidly amused and annoyed as hell. He very rarely displays the former emotion when he calls, but does often demonstrate the latter, usually in conjunction with the current one. Though she doubts her friend can tell the difference.

She saves the neglected work on her console and moves to the comm area to accept the call, waving off her roommate so that she can at least have the illusion of privacy as she prepares to be scolded. Doing so is made easier by the fact that, for once, she knows she doesn’t deserve it. She was just following his orders after all.

“Evening, Saren.”

“Jane. I received an interesting communication from the Headmaster this afternoon.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You don’t sound concerned."

“That’s because I’m not. Whatever he told you, I can assure you it was all part of the mission you assigned me.”

Saren’s mandibles spread open and hover there for a moment. She’s managed to surprise him. Good. She loves doing that. Makes a nice change of pace. He leans forward, closer to the comm camera, hands steepled in front of him. "Please, enlighten me as to what happened."

Jane sits up in her chair, sucking in a quick breath of air as she prepares to deliver her report in as direct a manner as possible. "In order to achieve the specified objective, I chose not to finish my school assignments in the time allotted prior to the planned class departure to the Hades Nexus cluster.” An itch forms on the tip of her nose, making it twitch. She shuffles her hands under her thighs to stop herself from reaching up to scratch. “As a result, it was agreed that I would not attend the trip, and instead would remain on campus in order to complete the assignments.” It’s not a _lie_ exactly. More like a _reinterpretation_ of the true events.

She figures if anyone can appreciate the subtle difference, it’s Saren.

“I then hitched a ride on their shuttle as a sanitation worker.” Jane straightens her spine as she speaks, careful not to preen, as that’s a surefire way to get Saren’s ire up, but proud of herself all the same. “Pretty ingenious infiltration if you ask me. Managed to fabricate 'authenticated' identification on the fly, and adjust the ship manifest. Even coded the security mechs here at the school to still register my presence.” A frown pulls at the corners of Jane’s mouth as she relays the part’s she’s not so proud of. “Would have pulled it off too, if it hadn't been for those newly installed DNA scanners when we made port. I did what I could to override them, but ran into a snag in the third subroutine, and it sent off a warning to security. Mapped it all out though, so it shouldn't be a problem in the future." 

She taps away on her omni-tool as she speaks, queueing up the information on the programs she used and the data she collected and sends it off through Spectre authorized channels to Saren's address. "There, that should be all of it." Yes, she got caught - which is a very large red mark against her - but everything else up to that point was perfect. Surely, he'll see that.

Jane can tell by the way the plate above Saren’s left eye lifts as he reviews the documentation that he's impressed, but the rest of his tightly controlled expression gives little away. "Which assignments did you fail to complete?"

She coughs to cover her somewhat nervous laughter, she thought that might be a problem, but what the hell did he expect her to do when he gave her a mission like the one he did? "An open note take-home test for advanced calculus.”

“That’s hardly-” 

“My historical perspectives on ancient asari societies research paper.”

“...”

“And my interstellar cartography keystone project.” Jane can pinpoint the exact moment that anger floods Saren’s system by the way that his right mandible twitches, so she rushes to explain herself in advance of the chastisement she knows is coming her way. “It was the only way I could be certain that they would ban me from the trip! Sir." A little well-timed deference, Jane has learned, can go a long way. 

The rumble of Saren's dual-toned growl echoing through the comm channel - accompanied by the squeak of the eavesdropping Elayna behind her - tells her that her timing might not have been good enough. " _Jane_ , what part of 'covert assignment' made you think that failing _three_ of your courses would be acceptable?" 

Jane huffs, impatient. "It was just one set of assignments, Saren. Incompletes might put me behind, but it's nothing I can't recover from. Besides, I _did_ complete the assignments. I just didn’t turn them in on time, so they _thought_ they were incomplete.” There’s no change in Saren’s countenance at her assurance, and it makes annoyance spike in Jane’s blood right back. Her fingers curl into fists and she bites back at him through gritted teeth. “How else was I was going to get banned from the trip **_like you told me to_**?" 

"I never told you to get banned-"

Jane shoots forward in her chair, closer to the screen. " **Excuse me?** The mission parameters you gave-" 

“The mission parameters I gave you indicated that you were to be _excused_ from the trip so that you could infiltrate the ship.” Saren’s voice is calm. Collected. But with a thread of near imperceptible frustration Jane doubts many would pick up on lacing his subvocals, but that she’s too damn familiar with to miss. “I wanted to see how well you could work within those limitations. At _no point_ did I condone you failing your courses to do so." 

Anger bubbles up inside Jane. This is just like Saren, give her an impossible mission, and then reprimand her when she fails to complete it. Never taking notice of what she did _right_. "And just **how** did you expect me to do that?"

Saren tilts his head to the side, that assessing stare of his - the one that never fails to make her feel like an insect - carving into her. "One avenue that I had anticipated would have been for you to feign an illness. You would have been left behind to recuperate. This route would have allowed you the benefit of sympathy were you caught sneaking onto the ship - since your professors would have assumed that you did not wish to be left out. They therefore would have been more likely to let you off with a warning - or no punishment at all.”

Jane swallows. That...wasn’t an option she had even considered. She never gets sick. The medical care at the school is top-notch. Her mind begins to whir with the possibilities. How would she have… She’s yanked out of her ponderings by the sound of Saren drumming his fingers on his ship’s console.

“ _Your_ ill-thought out choice has instead resulted in your additional confinement, increased levels of suspicion, and lowered marks in your courses."

Well, when you put it that way..."Oh."

"Indeed."

She fidgets in her chair, giving in to the urge to scratch her nose. "But I-"

"I expect a full-report on the mission - what portions of it succeeded, and which were failures, as well as an assessment on how you can improve for next time - sent to me by tomorrow evening. Is that understood?"

Jane grits her teeth. She'll have to stay up all night to complete that, but she doubts he cares about a little thing like her lack of sleep, not when he's already overloading her with additional work as is. "Yes, sir." 

"Good." Without a goodbye, or any questions as to how she's doing besides, he disconnects the call.

_Nice talking to you too, Saren._

Elayna pops her head back through the doorway she was skulking behind and frowns at Jane. "Okay, I'm not all that sure what just went down there - and I honestly don’t want to know, plausible deniability, yeah? But giving you additional homework with the course-load you already have? He _does_ know you have finals coming up, right?” She shakes her head when Jane confirms that of course he does. “Man, your turian’s a slave-driver."

Jane thinks about the batarians that killed her family, the muffled screams she was able to hear from her hiding place and the nasty taste of the blood from the one she bit on Omega. She thinks about all the horrible things that would have happened to her if not for Saren, and shakes her head. "No, he's just an asshole."

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Elayna groans as the comm chimes with _yet another_ incoming call.

“Are you going to get that?” 

“No.”

“Come on, Shepard! This is the third-time in the past hour that he’s called. I’m trying to study.”

“Then answer and tell him I’m not here. I don’t care.”

“By the goddess, _no_ , I am _not_ lying to him, Jane! You remember what happened to poor Ralla!”

Jane wrinkles her nose, refusing to look away from her omni-tool. She’s almost at the next level of ‘Puzzle Pirates’ and isn’t going to quit now because Saren’s annoyed at her. _Again_. If he doesn’t want her grades to slip, he should stop overloading her with extra assignments. “Ralla didn’t lie to him, Elayna. She dropped me from ten meters and broke my arm.” 

“It was six meters, and you were _fine_ , but Ralla got transferred to _another school_.”

Jane doesn’t have anything to say to that. She recalls the event all too clearly. Ralla had, after all, been one of the first friends Jane had made at school. And she’d been devastated when she’d learned the other girl would be leaving. More so when Saren had restricted contact with the girl in the future.   

 _—_ _“But she’s my_ friend _, Saren.”_

 _“Friends are liabilities, Jane. You shouldn’t trust so easily.”_ _—_

Jane’s throat goes dry at the memory. She flicks at the holographic screen in front of her just a tad harder than necessary to make her next move. “Then don’t answer the call. I’ll message him later.” She grinds her teeth as she misses the drop and is sent back to the beginning of the level. “After I’ve beaten this _damn thing_.”

Jane doesn’t look up, but she can feel Elayna’s stare drilling holes into the back of her head.

“Fine. But if he shows up here in a huff, I’m not covering for you.”

“Whatever.”

The chime goes silent, and Jane pretends she never heard it ringing.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

From her position laying flat on her bed, Jane guides her drone around the room in figure eights above her head, frowning as it stops mid-stream, then flickers out and dies. “Damn. What is _wrong_ with this thing.”

A noise like a hiss answers her from the bed on the the other side of the room. “Maybe it’s _exhausted_ from your _constant_ running of it for the last **_three hours_** _,_ Shepard _!”_

Jane shakes her head. “No. It can’t be the battery, I just swapped-” A pillow smacks Jane in the side, cutting her off mid-stream. “Hey!”

“I’ve got **two hours** before I need to be up for my biotics training routine, Shep. I need _sleep_.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jane powers the drone down. She lays in her bed staring at the ceiling until her eyes adjust to the dark, knowing that while she _should_ sleep, any chance of doing so is a long way off.

Still, she gives it her best mediocre level of effort. But in the dark and the quiet, her brain doesn’t slow, just turns its attention inward. 

Worry creeping in - like it’s want to do these days. Wondering if staying at school is the right call - if she should hang out long enough to get the higher degree like Saren wants - or if it’s time to cut her losses and run.

She could go to Omega, she thinks. Join up with Aria’s personal guard. The asari would take her on, Jane’s certain. She’s only met her a few times over the years - Saren disinclined as he is to spend time on the lawless station - but the woman had taken an interest in Jane during each and every visit. Granting her a bit of time and attention. 

Jane figures it was more to piss Saren off than in any real interest in Jane (the sour faces he’d make beside her were proof enough of _that_ ), but Jane could use that to her advantage. Play the _poor little refugee_ card. Oh-so desperate to break away from the suffocating rules and regulations of her Spectre guardian.

It’s a tempting thought, the more Jane dwells on it.

She doubts Aria would put a gun in her hand and station her at her side straight away. No. More than likely it’d mean a stint behind the bar, serving drinks until she’s proved herself. But, better that than _dancing_.

Jane shudders at the thought.

Saren would have a fit, of course. Maybe even more so than if Jane dropped everything and signed on with the Eclipse, or some other mercenary outfit.

Or, well...maybe not. As there’s very little Jane can think of that Saren would detest _more_ than her quitting school and joining up with a band of mercs.

Except for running off to the Alliance, of course.

Or she could opt to disappoint Saren in another way, and just give a go at civilian life. Just...get a job. At Armax maybe. She’s decent at design, and she knows her way around their catalog. Or, failing that, she thinks that the shopkeeper at Rodam Expeditions would give her a chance. She’s been more than a few places, she can probably figure out a way to sell that experience to customers. Make a steady income. Get an apartment. Maybe a pet fish.

Simple. Normal. _Boring._

She heaves a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, listening to the breathing of her roommate juxtaposed against the whirring of the cooling system fans in the walls. The myriad options - both open and closed to her - playing out in high-definition in her mind.

Ten minutes later, she gives into her insomnia and pulls up the drone’s data log on her omnitool, hoping to decipher what keeps going wrong. Better to be productive than risk an idle brain taking her to dangerous and unfriendly places.  

She flicks from screen to screen - the orange glow of the interface flashing in and out as she reads, blinking bright in the dark room. Jane frowns, unable to locate a clear answer to the problem. Maybe if she tries rerouting the-

A long, drawn out grown of displeasure rings out from the other side of the rom. “Ugh!! _Why_ can’t you just _go. To. Sleep?_ ” 

Jane frowns into the dark. “What? I’m being quiet.” 

“Yeah, but I can _feel_ you brooding from over here.”

“You an empath now, Elayna?” 

“Oh, yeah. Didn’t I tell you? I’m thinking about switching tracks and going into xenopsychology.”

Jane snorts. “Sounds horrifying.”

“I don’t know. Getting people to spill their deepest, darkest secrets to me? Could be damn interesting.”

“Hmm.”

“So, why don’t you help me get a good start, and spill. Because neither of us are going to get any sleep if you don’t.”

Jane gives it a moment’s consideration, before dismissing it. Not really one to _share_. Still, maybe… “Any chance the Asari Commandos would be interested in taking on a human member?” 

She can feel her roommates eyes on her, for all she can’t see them in the black of the room. “I mean _sure_ , if they’re good enough. Why, know someone?” 

“Me.”

Elayna laughs, a giggle-snorting sound that Jane normally thinks of as 'cute' but that - at present - just feels insulting. “You’re not a biotic, Shep.”

Jane shrugs. “I’m young still. Could take a bath in some eezo. See what comes out.”

“A lump of melted human, that’s what.”

Jane sighs. The sound as obnoxious a noise in the quiet space as her roommate's lingering chuckles.

“Look, Shep. You want to be military. So be military.” Her roommate’s voice is a little softer, a little kinder, than before. “Forget the Hierarchy, forget the Commandos. Forget freaking Omega-” Jane opens her mouth to interject, but Elayna powers on. “Don’t even try and deny it, Shep. I _know you_ , and I know you’ve got neon visions of shaking your ass next to Aria-” 

“I do not!”

“But we **_both_ ** know you can’t dance to save your life, so just put it out of your head. Finish up your degree, and go join the Alliance. Forget what your Spectre says about humans. You’ve been internalizing that shit for _way_ too long. It’s not healthy. And more importantly, it’s _wrong_.”

Jane chews on her thumbnail. Nerves and hope mixing in her stomach until she feels nauseous. “How do you know?”

This time when Elayna turns to Jane, Jane’s eyes have adjusted to the dark enough to make out the sweep of her fringe, the highlights around her eyes. “Because I know _you_.”

“But-”

“Shep, _I know you_. And you? You’re a good person. Too good to be able to credit it all to that stick-up his ass Spectre that pays for your upkeep. If you’re whole species were the toddlers that he claims they are, you wouldn’t have been able to turn out _half_ as well as you have.”  

Jane doesn’t have anything to say to that. She wants Elayna to be right. Recalls her parents and how hard they worked to make Mindoir a _home_. Remembers all the different members of the colony - vague, formless, _faceless_ people in her memory now, but real - _alive_ \- once upon a time - puttering around doing their best to make sure everyone didn’t just survive, but _thrived_.  

The memory of it makes her feel young and small again.   

But it also makes her think that maybe Elayna has a point and it's time Jane stops caving into Saren’s prejudices and demands, and do what _she_ wants for a change. 

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Jane’s eyes are throbbing, and she has a crick in her neck from being slouched over her desk for the past three or four (possibly six) hours, when Elayna slams into the room.

The asari flops onto her bed with a loud exhale of air. “I am. So very. Very. Tired. I could _literally_ sleep for a decade.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You missed dinner.” 

Jane doesn’t look up. “Wasn’t hungry.” 

“What are you working on?” 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh? I wasn’t aware that nothing required typing so furiously. It must be a truly unique sort of nothing to require so much of your attention.”

“You’re hilarious, Elayna.”

“I know. So what is it? Another assignment from your Pops?”

Jane shots Elayna a toothy grin, too happy with her progress to bother being annoyed at Elayna's consistent refusal to  _not_ refer to Saren as her father. “Nope. It’s...extracurricular.”

“Oooh. Fun!” Elayna bounces up onto her knees on the bed, a gleeful expression lighting up her supposedly exhausted face. “What’s it gonna do, and how many rules are we gonna break using it?”

Jane beams at her friend, adrenaline spiking through her veins as she fills her in on her plan.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

The look on Saren’s face when the doors to his ship open up and she steps inside could scare off a pack of vorcha. The deep, irritated rumble in his sub-vocals and the rage in his eyes sharp enough to cut glass. 

Jane smiles wide, showing two rows of brilliant white teeth and steps around him, moving into the ship. “Thanks for picking me up. I was afraid I was going to have to hitch a ride soon. Who knows where I would’ve ended up.” She heads towards the cockpit dropping her bag on the decking by her usual seat, only to be startled by the presence of another turian sitting in her chair.   

“Oh! Hi there.” Her smile broadens at the surprised look on the newcomer’s face. He’s younger than Saren by about a decade, and maybe a handful of years older than she is. And quite pleasing to look at. The white markings on red skin are attractive, and they set his eyes apart. 

It’s a _good_ look.

She thrusts her hand out in greeting. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Shepard.”

His hand is warm, and the grip firm. Not at all the awkward mess that accompanies a turian’s first handshake with a human. Her estimation of him increases by a small degree. “Nihlus Kryik. Spectre Candidate.”

“Ahh.” She tosses a look over her shoulder at Saren, who’s still fuming by the doors. “Another one, huh?” 

He keys in the security code, mumbling something under his breath that she’s pretty sure includes the words ‘teenagers’ and ‘disrespectful’ in it, before shouldering past her into the pilot’s seat. “So it would seem.” 

She turns back to Nihlus with another smile. “You planning on washing out too?” 

His mandibles flutter in shock, beside him she can hear Saren grinding his teeth. “I’m trying to avoid it.” She laughs, he grins, and she decides she likes him.

“Jane, I believe you know where the sleeping quarters are. Go deposit your things there. The cockpit is not your closet.” 

She gives Saren a mocking salute and snags her bag from the ground. “Yes, sir!” The look he shoots her promises retribution for her attitude, but she doesn’t much care.

By now, she’s used to it. 

Jane takes her time in the back, getting cleaned up and waiting until they are well away from the spaceport before going to join the duo up front. No reason to tempt fate. Saren’s never left her behind before, but then again, she’s never been expelled from a school before either. 

It’s possible it’s put him in a _mood_.

With careful steps, she heads towards the front cabin, deliberately staying under their radar in the hope of being able to gauge just how screwed she is. She slumps against the bulkhead by the entry to the decon station, out of sight, and listens to them discuss the ship’s heading and other non-interesting things for several minutes. The clipped, one word responses that Saren gives his companion tell her that he either doesn’t like the other man, or that he is still pissed at her. Or both. It’s hard to tell without visual cues.

Jane’s exhausted, mentally and physically. She honestly hadn’t meant for things to go belly up they way they did. It was just a _prank_. A harmless, little prank. Or at least, that was what it was meant to be. She’d been working on that drone for _months_ , she really had thought the thing was stable enough to send out.  

She never expected it to blow up the chemistry lab. At least she can console herself with the fact that, while she may have been expelled, no one was hurt. And at least Elayna only got a suspension.

Small favors, right?

She sighs, about to give up on her spying and head back to the bunks for some much needed shut-eye (sleeping on a spaceport bench while waiting _more than a day_ for Saren to show up wasn’t what she’d call relaxing) when Nihlus breaks the stifling silence up front.

“...You have a ward.” 

“Yes.”

“A _human_ ward?” 

“ _Yes_.” The irritation in Saren’s voice is palpable, the fact that Nihlus either doesn’t notice it, or doesn’t care tells her that he is either very stupid or very brave.

“I thought you hated humans?”

“I do.” There was a point in her life when she would have been bothered by Saren saying something like that so matter of fact. But then she grew up and realized that while he hates _humans,_ for some reason, he doesn’t count her in their ranks. Even if he does look at her sometimes like he’s not sure where she came from or how she got here.  

“ _She’s_ human.” 

“How very observant of you. I can see why you've been recommended for Spectre status.”

“Saren-”

“There is very little I detest more than repeating myself, Nihlus. _Yes._ I have a ward. _Yes_ , she is human. _No_ , this does not change my opinion on humans as a species. I still believe them to be brash, impulsive, egotistical children not yet ready for the rigors of life in council space. And who still need to learn their place."

"And how does _she_ fit into all of this?"

A beat. Jane imagines that he is readjusting the ship’s controls for the umpteenth time, just to keep his hands busy. “That is none of your concern.” 

Undeterred by the brush off, Nihlus continues on. “I’m surprised is all, Saren. I’ve been working with you for months.” _He has? Damn, Saren. Always keeping your friends to yourself._ “And you’ve never mentioned her.” 

 _Oh, wow._ That actually kind of stings. She knows that, academically, Saren isn’t one to share the details of his personal life, but the fact that he is so tight-lipped about her existence is a bit depressing.

“There was no reason to mention her. She’s never had any bearing on anything pertaining to our involvement.” 

“We’ve been on multiple missions since my assignment, Saren. And there’s been more than a few close calls. What would have happened to her if something happened to _you_?”

“Why the concern for someone you’ve only just met?” 

Jane is equally perplexed. Getting any sort of positive emotion out of Saren is like pulling teeth. It’s strange to hear someone else - someone who’s only just met her - expressing those kinds of sentiments. She’s not sure if it says more about the people she’s known up until this point, or Nihlus, that he does. “I’ve got a soft spot for children, I guess.”

Jane snorts, knowing what Saren’s going to say to _that_ before he even opens his mouth.

“Useless sentimentality that you need to extinguish if you’re going to make it as a Spectre.”

“This from the man with a human ward.” A subtle bit of mockery bleeds through the newcomer’s sub-vocals when he says it.

There’s enough of a pause in his response that Jane finds herself leaning forward so that she can see around the corner when Saren answers. He’s looking straight ahead, focused on piloting the ship (something she knows he could let the V.I. handle for a while, if he wanted to). Nihlus’s gaze is directed at him, unabashedly waiting for a response. It’s telling as to how well they know each other that he doesn’t seem all that concerned that he’s prying into the other man’s personal matters. An ugly little burst of jealousy twists her insides.   

“Every rule has an exception, Nihlus. You’ll need to learn that too.” The jealousy smooths out, and she smiles to herself. Coming from Saren, that's practically a letter of endorsement on her behalf. “But if it’ll put an end to your incessant questioning and get you to focus on the task at hand, I have provisions in place for her in the event of my untimely death.”

 _Huh._ That’s...an unexpected bit of news.

In truth, it’s not something that Shepard has ever even wanted to _think_ about. Saren might be a misanthropic asshole at times (okay, _most_  of the time), but he’s _her_ misanthropic asshole. And the fact that Saren’s deemed her care important enough to have made _provisions_ warms her to an impossible degree.

Unwilling to trample on her newly contented emotions, she slinks back to the bunks.

It’ll be better to deal with the fallout of her expulsion after she’s had a full night’s rest anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a quick (relatively unimportant) note on my interpretation/opinion regarding asari youth. I'm taking things from the perspective that their physical development is on par with that of humans/turians, but that emotionally/culturally, they aren't considered mature for quite a long while after that. Hence why I think that Jane having an asari roommate is a plausible scenario. 
> 
> (Just thought I'd add this in case anyone was curious about my inclusion of an asari roommate for Jane. Again, this has no real impact on the story, but it's info in my head/notes, so I thought I'd share for those who were interested.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In Past We Dwell in Future We Seek](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15041999) by [LDPenguin_reading](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LDPenguin_reading/pseuds/LDPenguin_reading)




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